The One With the Missing Scenes
by TheSecretBar
Summary: One-shot series of missing L&L scenes from Season 5. The chapters will be in the same order as the episodes.
1. This Is Good

"Hey, Luke?" asked Sookie, smiling.

"Yeah?"

"This is good."

I nodded as I watched her walk back over to tend to Kirk. "I hope so."

The whole evening had felt like one surreal moment after another. From Lorelai's flustered reaction to the bouquet of flowers I brought, to the short but knowing look we shared during dinner. Things were definitely on track. Yes, Jason had showed up at the worst possible moment, and yes, Kirk interrupted a third kiss that I wanted even more than the first two. But despite all of that, I felt like the night was borderline perfect. That was until Lorelai came back to the inn looking distracted if not a little distraught. What could have possibly happened in the fifteen minutes she was gone?

I slowly made my way back towards the couch where Kirk lay, groaning in pain. After I sat down in the chair Jason had vacated earlier in the evening, I leaned forward propping my chin on my hand. For a moment, I wondered if maybe Jason had found Lorelai after I left her there, standing, as I chased after Kirk. It was possible that they had another conversation about the status of their relationship and took a walk to discuss it. That would maybe explain the lack of eye contact I received from her or her unwillingness to talk about what occurred out there on the front porch of her inn. Had she changed her mind that fast?

The clicking of her heels down the hall interrupted my thoughts, and I sat up straight as she reentered the room carrying a small basket filled with what looked like different ointments and a few towels. Lorelai placed the basket down on the floor next to the couch and stooped near Kirk's head.

"Kirk? I'm gonna take this blanket off so that Sookie can…tend to your injuries, okay?"

Kirk nodded, and Lorelai removed the blanket carefully so she would not disturb his wounds. Sookie made quick work of removing the several thorns sticking out of Kirk's ass and gently dabbed the sores with the corner of a hot towel dipped in antiseptic. I watched the scene in front of me without really seeing—all I could think about were the things not being said between Lorelai and me.

The awkwardness of sitting there without speaking became too much to bear, so I stood and cleared my throat. "You two seem to have this under control, so I'm just gonna…" I trailed off as Lorelai finally looked over at me. There was something she wanted to tell me, I could feel it. I had known her long enough to know that it is never a good thing when she is not speaking—which did nothing to ease the knot in my gut. But instead, Lorelai gave me a small smile and an almost inaudible goodnight.

Ten minutes later I was toweling off in the bathroom of my room upstairs. I had decided to try and stay positive about the situation despite my head screaming at me that something was not quite right with her demeanor. Something was definitely there between the two of us. It was something almost electric. It was a feeling I cannot remember ever having before tonight. And it was that notion alone that I was holding on to in hopes that this whole awkward phase passed and we could move on to what might be next.

I folded up my dress clothes and placed them in the small duffle bag I brought for the night. It was not until I set the bag back down that I noticed a folded slip of paper on the floor in front of the door to my room. After bending down to retrieve it, I unfolded the note and immediately recognized Lorelai's block print written on the Dragonfly Inn stationary I had helped her pick out a few weeks earlier. The note simply said:

EVENTFUL DAY AND AN EVEN MORE EVENTFUL NIGHT. I NEED TO

WRAP MY HEAD AROUND A FEW THINGS, BUT WE'LL TALK TOMORROW.

I reread it over and over until I could close my eyes and still see the lettering in two neat rows across the middle of the page. I wanted desperately to be able to read between the lines, to find the tone or the meaning. The day could definitely be considered eventful—I agreed with her there. And not only pertaining to the two of us. Everything she worked her ass off for came down to this one night, and it seemed to go off without a hitch. From my vantage point anyway. I folded the note back up, slid it into the front pocket of my bag, and turned off the light.

The next morning I listened as the hustle and bustle of the day began. I heard Babette's raspy, hushed voice say something to Miss Patty who chuckled throatily. A silent prayer was said that they were actually dressed for breakfast and not in bathrobes that left little to the imagination; it'll be years before the image of a half-naked Babette would be erased from my memory. As the rooms cleared out, I tried to hold out hope that Lorelai and I could have some sort of conversation about the events that took place the night before. I waited as long as I could for a light rap on the door that never came.

With a sigh, I stood and grabbed my duffle bag. I gave the room one last cursory glance and headed downstairs. My heart rate increased ever so slightly when I caught sight of Lorelai standing in the living room engaged in some sort of disagreement with Taylor and Michel. Some things never change. I took a deep breath and called her over—hoping she would at least acknowledge the note—but to my dismay, Lorelai acted like I was just another guest who she did _not_ kiss twice nearly twelve hours earlier.

I climbed into my truck feeling more confused than ever. Was she blowing me off? I knew Lorelai had a lot going on—Taylor did not let anything run smoothly in this town—so I decided to immerse myself in the ebb and flow of the diner and the breakfast crowd. It was a welcoming distraction, and before I knew it, an hour had passed.

The phone rang, and to my surprise, it was Lorelai. Finally. I ducked out of the commotion-filled room and into the private solace of the storage room. Nervousness threatened to take over as I realized this conversation could be the end of something that barely started or the beginning of one. Turns out, it was the latter. She finally acknowledged what happened, and I could hear the smile in her voice as we spoke. I sat there, grinning, surrounded by a sack of onions and jars of condiments for what felt like forever. Her soft, almost relieved, voice on the other end of the call still reverberated in my mind. I thought back to my short conversation with Sookie the night before, and I could not help but repeat her words out loud in the empty, quiet room.

"This is good."

A few hours later, after the lunch rush had died down, the phone rang once again. Hoping it was Lorelai, I intercepted the call from Lane. When she gave me a funny look, I told her I was waiting on an important call. Turns out, it was the exact opposite of what I expected. Liz and T.J. were in an accident a few days earlier in Maine and both of them had sustained broken bones. Being the do-gooder, big brother that I am, I quickly relayed what information I had to Lane and told her that she would be in charge for the next week while I was gone. After, I took the stairs two at a time and angrily stuffed some clothes into the duffle bag I had just cleared out a few hours earlier.

This was just my luck. The moment things were on track in the personal department, the universe decided to throw me a curveball. Luckily, I was a former ball player and could handle this all with ease. First things first—and as much as I hated the idea—I needed to get a cell phone. A small part of me wanted to stop what I was doing and call Lorelai to fill her in, but she had enough going on today, and I really needed to get on the road.

According to the map I kept in my truck, Maine was at least four or five hours away, and it was already two in the afternoon. I decided to stop in Hartford at the same cellular service provider I used with my old phone that Nicole had bought me. There was nothing wrong with the phone per se—it ended up in the lake for purely therapeutic reasons. After paying for the most basic, easy-to-use phone I could find, I sat in my truck and dialed the only person who I felt needed to know exactly what was going on and where I was at. Her answering machine picked up right away, signaling she had not made it home yet.

"Hey, it's me. Uh, listen, I got a call from my sister and T.J. They're up in Maine, and they got into a little accident—nothing major—each one of them broke an arm and a leg, so anyhow, they can't run the Renaissance Fair booth for a couple of weeks. So they asked me to come and help them out, and I, unfortunately, answered the phone, so I'm on my way to Maine. I'll be back in about a week. Okay? Bye."

I pressed the red button on the phone to end the call and sat there with an unsettling feeling in my gut. Was that too much information? Would she think to leave _me_ a message detailing her future whereabouts before we have even gone on one date? No, this is ridiculous. She's my friend before anything and would probably want to know why I was missing for a week.

I pulled out of the parking lot and headed north. Nothing on the radio sounded good, so I opted for silence instead. I ran over everything I discussed with Lane in my mind, looking for details that hopefully were not left out. But my mind circled back to the voicemail. About twenty minutes into the drive, I signaled to pull over to the side of the road and quickly dialed her number once again. And again, I got the machine.

"Hey, it's me again. I'm not sure if we're at the point in this relationship where you actually need to know that much information about my whereabouts, so if we're not, I'm sorry. I could have just said 'I'm going out of town, and I'll call you later.' So I'm going out of town, and I'll call you later."

Before putting my truck back into drive, I decided to call her back again and let her know about the cell phone in case _she _wanted to call me at some point. And like the fool that I can be, I forgot to leave the number. Five messages total. What a rambling idiot. Hopefully she won't see it that way. She is, after all, the queen of rambling and babbling—everything that drives me crazy about a person. And there I was, falling for the leader of their pack. I turned my focus back onto the road and willed this week to fly by, knowing exactly what—or rather _whom_—I would be coming back to.

* * *

**A/N:** What do you guys think? I have a plan to do all episodes of season 5. I know this has been done, but it would be my take on the scenes we didn't see. Nothing AU, so everything will fit nicely into what we actually saw happen. The POV will change depending on the scene I'm creating. Feedback is always appreciated!


	2. We'll Hook Up Later

"So, we'll hook up later, maybe," said Luke, his eyes dipping slightly to the ground before looking back up at me.

I held his gaze. "We'll hook up later. Definitely."

Luke nodded at my response; a smile bloomed across his face. "Good."

I clutched my hand to my chest. "I_ love_ the necklace."

"Good."

"Good." I chuckled softly as Luke reached out and touched my arm.

After the guy I bumped into declined my offer of a free pack of smokes, I turned and watched as Luke made his way back to the diner. I really wanted that kiss. Damn the universe and its constant interruptions. It had been seven torturous weeks since I had seen Luke, but the memory of those kisses we shared was seared into my brain. And on my lips.

Phone calls to each other were frequent. I had quickly grown to anticipate hearing that low, gravelly voice on the other end almost daily. But it was not enough. I had not realized how much I missed that new relationship feeling. That feeling I got just standing merely a foot apart from Luke was enough to make me melt. It had been a long time, if ever, that I had felt like that. My relationship with Jason lasted longer than any other relationship, but that was mostly due to the fact that we had fun together. But as much as I enjoyed his company, Jason didn't give me that flustered, butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling that Luke did. And if I'm being completely honest, no man ever had.

The parade rounded the corner, and I realized that I was still standing on the sidewalk staring dreamily at Luke's retreating back. An arm wrapped gently around my shoulders, and I turned to see Rory, smiling knowingly at me.

"What?" I asked in feigned innocence as if my daughter could not read me like a book.

"I thought you were going to Doose's," said Rory.

"Oh, they were closed. Yeah, Taylor started closing the store for one whole day once a year to clean and organize. Sometimes they restock and sometimes…" I trailed off when I noticed my daughter's "Yeah right" grin. "Okay, fine. There was no errand. I came over here to see…Luke."

"Aha, now we're getting somewhere."

"The only place _we're_ getting is out of the street before Theresa and Lindsey come back for round two." I immediately regretted my joke as I watched Rory's face fall. "I'm so sorry, hon. That was a very ill-timed joke."

Rory shook her head. "No, it's not that. I, uh, went to see Dean, and he was pretty upset. Upset with himself, mostly, but upset with me, too." She exhaled sharply. "But I don't want to talk about him. Tell me about you and Luke and your secret rendezvous."

It pained me to know she was going through yet another bout of boy drama, but I was more than happy to fill Rory in on what had been going on with Luke. We popped into Doose's—which was definitely open—to load up on snacks for an impromptu movie night and then to Al's for Chinese food. By the time we made it home, I had filled Rory in on the Renaissance Faire drama as if I had experienced it all myself. I could tell that Rory welcomed the distraction and not having to deal with her personal life for a little while longer.

After our viewing of _Room With a View_ and _Showgirls_—Rory declined my suggestion of playing the drinking game—we cleaned up. Rory had tried desperately to ward off her jet lag, but sleep overtook her once she lay down in bed to read. I carefully slipped the book out of her grip and covered her with a blanket. I smiled down at Rory's sleeping form and exited the room, turning the light off as I went. With all the movies, snacks, and rambling I did, I completely forgot that I told Luke we would meet up later. I checked the clock and saw that it was only a little after nine. The diner would still be open, so I figured dropping by casually would be my best bet. After a quick change of clothes—a fresh t-shirt and a spritz of perfume—I headed out the door.

A few minutes later I was parked across the street from the diner. I bounced up the steps, the bells signaling my entrance, and immediately sought out Luke. There were only two people dining, so I figured Luke would be close to closing up for the night. After I took a seat at the counter, drumming my fingers nervously, I looked around. Why am I so nervous? I thought. This is just Luke's_. _As if summoned by the mere thought of his name, Luke appeared from inside the kitchen and immediately caught my eye. One corner of his mouth pulled up as he tried to hide the grin on his face. And just like that, my nervousness was gone.

Without having to ask, Luke grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee. He slid it in front me and said, "I wasn't sure if you were gonna make it with Rory being back and all."

"Jet lag desperately wanted to be her friend. I couldn't compete."

I eyed him over the rim of my mug as I sipped. Over the last seven weeks, I had gotten used to the sound of his voice over the phone. It was always calm and even. The complete opposite of how he usually talked on a day-to-day basis. It was almost as if I got to experience the other side of Luke. The side that he does not let show as often. The side reserved for more intimate conversations. Not that we have had any of those, but I would be lying if I said I had not started to imagine it.

The couple at the table by the window stood and paid their bill. I watched Luke cash them out, clear the now vacant table, and flip the sign on the door to show CLOSED. He moved around the diner with such ease, clearly from years of going through the same ebb and flow, day after day. It all felt methodic, routine. My life always felt so chaotic at times, and I wondered how two completely different people such as ourselves could make things work. Maybe that's what I needed. Both Christopher and Jason were so similar to my personality and came from the same background as I did. Max was the complete opposite, and we had hardly anything in common. But Luke had something that none of the others had: a relationship with me as well as one with Rory. He understood us as a whole, too.

"I just have to turn the dishwasher on and then I'm done. Did you want a donut or anything?" Luke walked over and lifted the lid.

The sugary, sweet smell wafted out, hitting my senses. "Do you even have to ask?"

Luke smiled as he replaced the lid before heading into the kitchen. I pulled the donut apart with my thumb and forefinger and popped the pieces into my mouth. I stood and made my way behind the counter, leaning on the door jam as I watched Luke. "What's the plan?"

Luke dried his hands on a towel before he tossed it on the countertop next to the grill. "Plan?"

"For tonight," I said around a mouthful of donut.

"I didn't really have a plan in mind. Hang out and talk, I guess, without the whole town watching." Luke grinned as he watched me lick the chocolate frosting from each one of my fingers, shaking his head slightly.

"What?" I asked, feeling a little self conscious. "Did I get it on my face?"

Instead of an answer, Luke dipped his head and gently touched his lips to mine. He let the kiss linger for a moment as if he wanted to savor the feel of it. After seven long weeks, I felt the same way. When he pulled away, Luke licked his lips and said, "All that sugar'll kill ya."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "You're a real charmer."

Luke led the way towards the staircase, and I followed him up. Once we were inside, he asked if I wanted a beer, and I told him yes. Anything to help calm the fluttered feeling in my belly sounded good. He took a seat on his recliner, and I opted for the couch.

"How does it feel to be home?" I asked, tipping the bottle up as I drank.

"Well I never thought I'd appreciate this freak show of a town, that's for sure."

"Aw, come on. It wasn't all bad. Kind of like a Renaissance Faire soap opera. I wish I could have seen you in action, though. Organizing and selling jewelry." We both chuckled as a beat of silence passed between us.

"How's everything with you and Rory?" Luke asked before taking a long sip of his beer.

He didn't know about the Dean situation; I felt like that was Rory's story to tell if she wanted. He did, although, pick up on the riff. After all these years, Luke really knew how to read me which earned him another check on the list of why this relationship would be a good idea. I had told him on one of our many late-night conversations that Rory and I had a disagreement and she took her grandmother's offer of being paraded around Europe for the summer.

I smiled at his genuine concern for my daughter. "I think the summer away did her some good. Sometimes you have to remove yourself from a stressful situation to gain a little perspective."

It was a vague answer, but Luke didn't seem to mind. "So, what does the rest of your week look like?"

"Let's see. There's the always enjoyable Friday night dinner and then it's Rory's last weekend before school starts back up. Other than that…" I trailed off as I watched Luke pick at the label on his beer bottle. "You know, we never did get that movie date."

He looked up at me. "We will, but…"

My eyebrows shot up. "But…?" I asked, dragging out the word. Did I misread the signs at some point? How can this all feel over before it even started?

Luke took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose. "I want you to enjoy your last few days with Rory. She's been gone all summer and then she'll be going back to school. I don't want to intrude or be a distraction." He paused, grinning. "We waited seven weeks, why not make it an even eight, right?"

I watched him for a moment. Luke: always so thoughtful and so understanding. Why hadn't I seen it before? I guess in a lot of ways I had, but not in a way that made him seem more attractive than ever. "Hey, come here."

Luke leaned forward, placing his beer bottle on the coffee table. He stepped over to the couch and sat to my left, turning only slightly to face me. I angled my body to face his and smoothed a hand down his scruffy cheek. This time, I initiated the kiss. It was slow and gentle at first—unlike our first kiss that was more lust-filled and quick. Nothing felt rushed now. It was like we had all the time in the world. But more importantly, nothing about it felt weird.

To be honest, it crossed my mind a few times over the last seven weeks that there was a possibility the rush I felt when Luke kissed me was all just a fluke. It felt exciting because it was so unexpected and so un-Luke. And once that wore off, I would see that this whole thing felt bizarre and unnatural.

Boy, was I wrong.

Without breaking the kiss, Luke gently pushed my hair back and behind my ears using just the tips of his fingers. I felt a delicious tingle run down my spine as he gently grazed my ear, jaw, and neck with his hands before deepening the kiss. We sat that way, exploring each other and finding our rhythm, until the need for air became too much. Luke pulled back, smiling, and pressed his forehead against mine.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked softly, gazing into his darkened blue eyes.

"Baseball," he answered without hesitation.

I gave him a smug grin. "Is it working?"

"Put it this way," he said, kissing the side of neck. I closed my eyes and relished this new feeling. "Any reservations I might've had about us crossing that line are long gone. But…"

My eyes popped open and I pushed him back gently. "Again with the but?"

He grinned. "I want us to have an actual date before…anything else happens. I'm sorry if that sounds lame. It's just how I am, and I want to do this right."

"That's not lame, Luke. I think it's sweet." I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down for one last kiss, making it one to remember.

We said our goodbyes downstairs in the diner, and Luke watched as I walked across the street to my Jeep. Things seemed to be back on track and falling into place. It was a refreshing feeling after the summer I had just experienced. But that was behind me now, and I was looking forward to the next chapter of hopefully good things to come.


	3. I Am All In

Luke plucked the horoscope from my fingers, returning it safely to his wallet. "Lorelai, this thing we're doing here—me, you—I just want you to know I'm in. I am all in."

I stared back at him, unblinking, processing. The horoscope I had scribbled on was just a ruse to get him to give me coffee. And it worked. Never would I have imagined that he took it serious enough to tuck it away for eight years. _Eight _years. Since the day we met, Luke has carried around a piece of me, a memento. Through his final try with Rachel and his marriage to Nicole. All along, I was there. Connected to him through a tiny scrap of paper. Here we were now, on our first official date, and Luke had basically told me that he is committed to this relationship. In the past, any thought of commitment had terrified me, causing me to bolt.

As if he could read my mind, Luke asked, "Does that, uh—are you, uh, scared?"

"No," I answered softly and felt the truth in my own words. Nothing about being committed to Luke felt scary or sudden or too soon. It felt right. He was one of my best friends, a person I have depended on for so long now. I trusted him more than anyone. "And I'm in, too."

"Oh-kay," said Luke in that same tone he used over the phone eight weeks earlier—when we acknowledged our kiss and our potential for more events like that to take place.

He grabbed his glass of champagne, taking a quick sip. I watched as his face grimaced slightly before setting the glass back down. "She really won't bring you a beer?" I asked, trying to mask my amusement.

"Nope, and I've learned not to argue with her. Just be thankful that practically anything they cook is worth trying. I haven't had a bad dish yet."

"Hmm," I hummed, leaning toward him with my chin propped on my palm. "You don't strike me as being a go-with-the-flow guy when it comes to your food."

"Well, what kind of guy _do_ I strike you as?" Luke asked, low and gravelly.

I smiled, grazing my bottom lip with my teeth. Verbal foreplay was my specialty. "Definitely athletic, muscular. I'll never get the image of Butch Danes in those little track shorts out of my head." Luke rolled his eyes, and I continued. "I've hardly ever seen you eat—except for when you pick at your food during Thanksgiving—but I know that when you do, it's something ridiculously healthy. Nothing processed or with added preservatives, I'm sure. How am I doing so far?"

Luke nodded slowly. "Not bad, but you left out one thing."

I held his gaze, our knees pressed together under the table. "Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"On _occasion_, I do enjoy a good piece of cheesecake." My eyes lit up, and he held up his hand. "But only if I make it myself."

"Why, Luke Danes, I would have never thought you harbored such a secret. This will be front page news at the Stars Hollow Gazette tomorrow."

"Keep mocking and you'll never get any." He winced at his own words as a blush creeped up his neck.

I shook my head slowly, grinning. "Two dirty's in one night. You know what happens when you get to three, don't you?"

"Enlighten me." Luke looked up at me, all traces of humor gone, but there was something else. Something almost electric in the air between us—and in those amazing blue eyes. The electricity in the air suddenly turned magnetized, and I felt myself being pulled towards him.

Right before our lips touched, we jumped apart as our plates were delivered with a clunk onto the table. I laughed nervously and scooted back, keeping a good foot of distance between us. The electric current weakened but not fully. _Had the temperature gone up in here?_ I thought as I removed my jacket.

The food was, as Luke had promised, exceptionally good. We ate, and I listened as Luke told me stories about his parents and Bud and Maisy. They had never had kids, and they always treated Luke like he was one of their own. Especially after Luke's mother had passed away. It was so long ago, he said, that he didn't feel the pain of it anymore. I waited for him to mention his dad, but Luke seemed to quiet down a bit after already mentioning his mother, and I didn't want to push him.

As we waited for the check, I scooted a little bit closer to Luke. "So, about that cheesecake you were bragging about, do you have any?"

"I was _not_ bragging."

"But you have some."

"Yes."

"Perfect. I hope it goes good with champagne because I'm taking the bottle with us."

"You need to be drunk to be with me?" Luke asked, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a smile as he stared down at the table.

I traced the outline of his jaw with my pointer finger before I gently grabbed his chin, turning his face towards me. In a low voice, I said, "You know that's not true, Luke."

Since he came home almost a week ago, Luke and I have had two very successful hang-out sessions. While the first one was in his apartment with only a beer each between us, the second one was much more impromptu and sans any alcohol at all. He had come by my house Saturday afternoon because I was too tired to stop by the diner Friday night after dinner and dealing with my parents' drama. We stood in the foyer, awkwardly, until I mentioned that Rory was not home. I could see the tension release from his body, and I made a mental note to discuss this with him at a later time. He stepped closer, tipping my chin up with his thumb and forefinger, and kissed my lips. Before I knew it, I was pressed up against the front door with the doorknob digging into my lower back, Luke's lips on my neck. Everything was hazy. That was until Babette screeched my name from the other side of the door and we jumped apart like teenagers caught in the act. He made a quick exit out the back door and that was that.

He swallowed hard. "Are you nervous?"

I smiled shyly. "Not Ross and Rachel nervous—where I would start giggling while we were making out—but kind of an excited, not-knowing-what-to-expect nervous." He had no idea what it was I referenced, and I didn't care. It was right there in his eyes that he felt the same way. 

* * *

The next morning I sat there on the bed—in his blue plaid shirt and nothing else—and watched him quickly dress before heading downstairs to retrieve my coffee. The mortification I felt only two minutes earlier had slowly dissipated only to be replaced with a different feeling.

Last night was amazing. Cheesecake and champagne and Luke. God, Luke. Who would have thought that the town's curmudgeon could have this passionate—and very skilled—side to him. We fit perfectly together. It was like nothing I had experienced before. I guess it's true what they say: it's always the quiet ones. And now, he was mine, and I was his, and I didn't care who knew. That was a lie. I cared very much who knew outside of town—specifically my mother—but I didn't want to hide it _here_ anymore.

It was nice—almost thrilling—to have this secret at first. We were in a sort of bubble with everyone around us oblivious to what was going on between the inn and diner owner. But my last relationship was based on a secret, and in the end, people got hurt. The thought of that happening again, especially to Luke, was like a splash of cold water to the face. Crazy town making me have to defend myself. We're all in, dammit. This isn't just a fling.

Luke strolled back in holding a to-go cup of coffee and a plate with an omelet on it. "Thought you might want something to eat before you leave."

I smiled gratefully. "You know me well."

He sat on the bed next to me. "Are you okay? I know that's not how we hoped everyone would find out."

I cut a chunk of omelet off with my fork and shoveled it into my mouth. "I'm fine," I said finally, putting my plate to the side and taking a quick sip of coffee. "We're adults, right? We did nothing wrong." I smiled, devilishly. "In fact, _everything_ we did was very, _very_ right."

He looked over at me, and before I knew it, the omelet and the coffee and the nosey townspeople were pushed far, far away to the back of my mind. I no longer cared about my accidental floor show downstairs in the diner as Luke slowly unbuttoned the plaid shirt I was wearing. I no longer cared about the inn and the shoes I wanted to buy but did not need as Luke's warm mouth made its way down to my neck and stomach. He teased me with his tongue until I was begging for him, and when he finally pushed inside me, I was already falling over the edge.

Afterwards, we lay tangled in his sheets, and I watched his chest rise and fall, the light from outside filtering in through the windows, casting a glow on his smattering of chest hair. "I really need to get up," I said but made no effort to do so.

"I should, too. It was pretty crowded down there earlier, but that might have more to do with a certain pantless woman who sauntered down the stairs."

I pinched his side playfully. "Ha, ha. Look, I'm prepared to be peppered with any and all questions, my friend. The sooner we get it over with, the sooner we can move on."

As it turns out, people had a lot to say and ask and debate about our commingling—as Taylor had put it. It was one of the best town meetings I had attended in years, and the first time ever that a man I'm dating professed his adamancy to a crowd of people that we're together, to hell with everyone else. When Luke Danes commits, he _really_ commits. The thought sent a tingly, happy feeling straight to my belly. This man would protect me always, and I don't think I've ever had that before.

Dinner and a movie was great. Luke had learned from our few movie nights last year what my rules were and the fact that everyone else was to abide by them, but I was excluded. He walked me up to my front door where we stood and kissed, not caring who or if anyone was watching. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't want him to leave. We had spent two really great evenings—and an amazing morning—together and still, I wasn't sick of him. Another first.

"Do you want to come in?" I asked. It hit me suddenly that just because I wasn't sick of him, it didn't mean that he wasn't sick of me. But that feeling was proven wrong when he accepted my invitation, and we both entered the house.

He sat down at the kitchen table as I grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge. My mind had been swirling with thoughts all night. Mostly about Luke but also about relationships I had in the past and how I could not get over how different this all felt just two dates in. Yes, technically, we've been "talking" for eight weeks and friends for eight years, but it was almost like we got to skip all the awkward getting-to-know-you stuff and jump right into the good stuff.

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment before I said, "I've been thinking about what happened tonight at the meeting."

Luke's eyebrows shot up as he swallowed down a gulp of beer. "And you thought it was too much."

"Quite the opposite actually." I noticed him visibly relax. "Trust me, seeing you get worked up into a rant is usually an amusing moment for me, and I take a sort of sick pleasure in being the one who causes it. But this was different. This was about us and how serious you were when you said you were all in."

"Of course I was serious. I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't."

"I know, but saying it and showing it are two different things, and you did both." I swallowed hard, feeling nervous all of a sudden. "I want to tell you something so that you know that I'm serious about us, too."

Luke placed his beer down on the table, giving me his full attention. "Okay."

"I've never slept with a man…here…in my house." I'm not sure what reaction I was expecting, but Luke stared back at me as if there were more to my statement than that. I waited a beat before I asked, "Do you get what I'm saying?"

His eyebrows knitted together. "But you were engaged and then you and Jason were together for months. You're telling me that in all that time…" He trailed off as I shook my head slowly. "None of that matters to me—your past. You know that, right?"

I reached for his hands. "I do know that. I'm telling you this because I want you to know that you're different, _we're_ different. And I want you here if you want to be here."

He tugged on my hands and I stood, replacing my chair with his strong lap. "I want to be here."

I smiled as relief flooded through me. "Good."

He smiled back before kissing me, deep and slow. All those swirling thoughts were long forgotten as Luke stood, holding me in place, and carried me up the stairs to bed. Yet, another first.


	4. You Cannot Gather Here

The faint smell of peaches mixed with vanilla tugged gently at my subconscious state, willing me to wake up. It was a combination of familiar but foreign which left me feeling a little disoriented. I peeled my eyes open, and a too bright room stared back at me. Tucked into my side was the source of the fruity scent: Lorelai. Her dark, wild hair fanned across the pillows and her lips pursed slightly as she slept. I took a look around the room. I had been here dozens of times—to fix something, to hang something—but waking up amongst her belongings, in her bed, is something I could have never dreamed would happen. Okay, that was a lie. I've dreamed about it lots of times, but dreaming it and experiencing it are not at all the same.

Slowly, I slipped out from underneath her warm, sleeping form and bent down to collect my clothes scattered across the room. She didn't even stir, and I could not help but stare down at her with this stupid grin on my face. It's a beautiful sight to wake up to, and even though we had only been physically together for less than a week, I could not get enough of her. I pulled the covers back over her and grabbed my boots before quietly padding down the stairs. The house had a completely different feel to it when it was silent. With no noise from the t.v. or incessant chattering going on, it was almost eerie. I sat on the landing to tie my laces before heading into the kitchen to survey what was what.

Of course, her fridge was practically empty with only the remnants of take-out containers left over from god knows when. Surprisingly enough, she had milk and orange juice. I grabbed the container of juice and filled a glass, chugging it down in three large gulps. A thought suddenly occurred to me, and I checked my watch to see if there was time. It was only six, so I placed my empty glass in the sink and snuck out of the back door.

The streets were oddly quiet for a Wednesday morning as I walked the half mile into town. I rounded the corner of Miss Patty's and noticed a sign out front indicating a town meeting Saturday night. _Good grief_, I thought. _We just had a meeting last night. _Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Miss Patty leaning against the door to her studio. She took a long drag off of her cigarette before pointing it towards me with a grin like a Cheshire cat.

"Hello, dear. My, you're up and about early this morning. Must have gotten plenty of rest last night."

I felt the blush creep up my neck as I tried to avert my eyes from her knowing grin. "I've got some errands to run."

"Oh, don't let me stop you. I wouldn't want you to keep anyone waiting." She gave me a wink and sauntered back inside her studio.

Suddenly, Lorelai's words the morning of her floor show surfaced. _Six months of hearing about it, but then it'll die down. _God, help me. There was no way I could take six months of grins, winks, and suggestive comments. And I knew the more I pushed back and showed my discomfort, the more pleasure people seemed to take in making me uncomfortable. Especially Lorelai. It was no secret that I had fallen for her. Hard. But I couldn't let it show. Not to this town, not to Hello! magazine. I needed to keep up my curmudgeon exterior.

I entered Doose's and grabbed a hand basket, thankful for the store being practically deserted. The entire walk into town I mulled over what to make for our first morning together in her house. It was a big deal for her to have me spend the night, and I wanted to show my appreciation. Since she's eaten at the diner practically every morning for the last eight years, I knew what she liked. The basics: eggs, bacon, usually pancakes. But instead of ordinary old pancakes, I decided to try something different. Something subtle but would still give her a taste of my true cooking skills—a thing in which I hoped to really prove to her one day.

After checking out, I made a beeline for the diner so that I could grab a few things from my apartment. A fresh shirt—all I had was the one I wore on our date last night—and some cooking utensils. I didn't want to be seen carrying an entire cookware set over to Lorelai's house, so I grabbed only a whisk and a spatula, hoping like hell she had everything else I needed. Quickly, I changed shirts and brushed my teeth before making the trek back over to the house.

I placed the grocery bag from Doose's on the kitchen table before heading upstairs to check on Lorelai. As I figured, she was still dead to the world. I closed her bedroom door and creeped down the stairs to get started on her breakfast. She had one skillet, two baking pans, and a couple of mixing bowls. I shook my head slowly at the bare necessities that made up her kitchen. It made sense, I figured, that a once sheltered, privileged girl like Lorelai would prefer a life of eating out versus home-cooked meals. It was the rebel in her. That need to be the complete opposite of her upbringing. And her parents. I inhaled deeply and got to work.

An hour later she sleepily shuffled into the kitchen. Her black, silky tank top she put on last night just for me was now covered by a light pink long-sleeved shirt. She looked rumpled and beautiful, and it took everything in me not to stop what I was doing and carry her back upstairs. That was until her need to make me completely uncomfortable while she talked to Rory on the phone killed any sort of arousal I was feeling.

She hung up with Rory and grabbed the bag with her packed up breakfast, placing it on the counter. "Did you really make me blintzes? How fancy."

"Lorelai," I said softly. She stilled in her movements but didn't turn to face me. "I'm fine with bringing this stuff to the diner. I wasn't even thinking about the fact that you come there as some sort of ritual."

She turned around. "This _is_ sweet, Luke. I just wasn't expecting it, and I don't want you to feel like you have to do this kind of stuff now."

"I _wanted _to do it. Kind of like a thank you for last night." It sounded so dumb saying it out loud, I couldn't help but nervously rub the back of my neck.

One side of her mouth pulled up in a grin before she stepped towards me. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she then tilted her head back to look me in the eyes. "Thank you for being my Cooking Luke and for putting up with me."

I scoffed, encircling her waist with my arms. "Please. I've been doing it for years now."

"But now you'll get rewarded for your services in a very different way." Her voice was low, husky.

"Is that right?" It amazed me how she can turn me off and on like a switch.

She nodded before rising up on her tiptoes and touching her lips to mine. Uncomfortable Luke had left the building. 

* * *

Saturday night I was wiping down the counter in the diner when Lorelai, Sookie, and Jackson came in chatting excitedly about something.

"I still can't believe you did that. What were you thinking?" Sookie asked as they sat down at a four-top table.

"I was thinking that I'm tired of Taylor and his nitpicking on every little thing in this town." Jackson nodded towards me. "Luke knows how it feels."

I walked up to the table and bent down to give Lorelai a quick kiss. The last customer had left a half hour before, so it couldn't really be classified as a public display of affection. "Do I even want to know?"

"Jackson is running against Taylor for Town Selectman, so you're looking at his new campaign manager," said Lorelai with a grin that told me the manager part was probably her idea. She turned her attention back to Sookie. "We need to start as soon as possible. Making calls, bugging people to make sure they get out and vote. Tracy Flick has got nothing on me."

"Are you guys wanting anything? I was gonna close down the kitchen, but if you're hungry…" I trailed off, hoping no one wanted to place an order. Sookie and Jackson said no, but Lorelai eyed the counter.

"What kind of pie do you have left?"

"Apple or pumpkin."

"Apple, please. And coffee."

I plated her a slice of pie and filled a mug of coffee before resuming my task of cleaning and shutting down the kitchen. About twenty minutes later, I heard the bells near the door jingle. Lorelai then appeared in the doorway holding her empty plate and mug. She offered to wash her dishes, but I told her that I was waiting to run the dishwasher until she was finished.

"So, how was the meeting? Aside from all the ridiculous politics and Town Selectman crap."

"Ticks."

"Ticks?"

"Yep. Apparently, Taylor's big topic on the agenda was whether or not we should walk around with our pant legs tucked in during tick season. It made for some pretty dramatic storytelling." Lorelai grabbed a towel and folded it neatly before placing it on the counter.

"Sounds fascinating," I responded, dryly. For the life of me, I will never understand this woman's fascination with the asinine things that go on on this town. I gestured with my arm letting her know she could lead the way out of the kitchen and turned off the light. "Did you wanna come up and have a beer or something?"

Lorelai turned to face me; a smile playing on her lips. "You're really not tired of me yet?"

I shot her a look that said "Who are you kidding?", which was enough of an answer for her. As I led the way upstairs, her playful question kept playing on a loop inside my head. _You're really not tired of me yet?_ How could I be? It was no secret that she drove me crazy—in the bedroom as well as in the outside world. But the Lorelai I now knew intimately was a whole other creature with so many layers. Once you peeled back the quippy, caffeinated layer you saw this vulnerable, caring woman who would do anything for the important people in her life.

We entered the apartment, and I grabbed us a couple of beers as Lorelai perused my newly purchased stack of cd's. She selected one and popped it into the cd player. When she helped me make the list after our first date, I wasn't sure how I would come to like her taste in music. Turns out, her taste was pretty good. I remembered listening to a little bit of Bowie in high school; although, I think I got him confused with Bono—not in music style, just in name. My music choices were usually whatever my dad was listening to and that normally consisted of classic country—like Johnny Cash—or a little bit of classic rock. Steely Dan, Jimmy Buffet, the Eagles. Starting a relationship with Lorelai made me want to be more open to trying new things and music was one of those things. Especially since that was something she loved.

The opening drum groove to "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" filled my tiny apartment as Lorelai accepted her proffered beer before taking a seat on the couch. She nodded toward the cd player on the shelf.

"Nice collection so far." Lorelai tilted her bottle up, taking a short pull. "That's my favorite album of theirs."

I sat down next to her on the couch. "Well the guy at the music store with the six piercings in one ear said it was their best one, and who am I to argue with a guy with that many piercings as well as tattoos across all ten of his fingers."

"Cool! Did they spell anything or were they just random?"

I chuckled softly at her odd enthusiasm. "Lone wolf, if I remember correctly."

"Hmm," she hummed in response as she took another sip of beer. The song ended and the next one started up. Lorelai leaned forward, placing her bottle on the coffee table. "Come here."

I set my bottle down as well and scooted closer to her. She smoothed her hand down the side of my neck before leaning in and kissing me. I pulled her thighs onto my lap as she angled her body to lie back against the armrest of the couch. We stayed like that for a minute or so until she spoke.

"Hey, Luke?"

"Hmm," I responded with my lips pressed to hers as my hand snaked underneath her soft, pink t-shirt searching for the warmth of her skin.

In between kisses, she said, "Tomorrow, would it be okay if Sookie and I made a few calls from the diner?"

My head was spinning from the beer and the music and the arousal coursing through every part of me. At that moment, I had no clue what she was talking about or what it was I agreeing to, but I said yes as my fingers found the front clasp of her bra, releasing it in one quick motion. 

* * *

Curmudgeon Luke was back. What was promised to be only a few phone calls as they ate breakfast, turned into two hours and the use of almost half my diner. It was my fault. I gave her an inch and she took a mile. Deep down, I knew I would give her the use of my entire diner if she asked. It wasn't about that. It was about maintaining what was mine and making sure people didn't try and take advantage of the softer side of me. The side of me that only Lorelai could unearth after years of keeping up a gruff exterior. I had a reputation to uphold, dammit.

But why did that matter anymore? I'm finally in a relationship that makes me happy with a woman who's amazing. Why should I care if people think I've changed? To be honest, I haven't changed all that much. I still have my routine and she has hers. The same people bug me and drive me up a wall. Business was the same as always. Sometimes, in a relationship, it was about doing things for the other person. I put up a good fight; it was time to surrender.

Exhaling deeply through my nose, I walked behind the counter in time to see Jackson thrust his kid at Sookie before storming back outside. _Oh, yeah_, I thought. _He'll make a great politician._ Lorelai looked over and met my eyes, and I gestured with my head for her to meet me at the end of the counter for some privacy.

"We're packing it in. I made of list of the people I haven't seen in here this morning, so—"

"It's fine. Make your calls, have your gathering." Her eyes lit up, and I held my hand up to stop her. "But do _not _expect me to help and do _not _expect me to clean up."

She gave me a little salute. "Aye aye, Captain." Drumming her fingers on the counter, she added, "You do know you could say no, right? I don't expect you to say yes just because we're together now."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Please. You had me bending to your needs long before we were together."

"Dirty," she giggled.

"Geez." Despite myself, I smiled. She had a hold on me. There was no denying that anymore. 

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry if this chapter was a little boring. The episode itself is not one of my favorites aside from the few cute L&L scenes that we got. Also, sorry for the delay in posting. This is my first "series", and normally I have my stories at least 90% done before I even post the first chapter—this one is not like that. Anyway, thanks for following along and reviews are always appreciated :)


	5. I Can Tip You Later

"Yeah, we want, right?" I looked up at Luke for confirmation.

He nodded. "Yeah. We want."

I turned my attention back to Rory. "Good. Go run it past Dean."

Luke's grin faded. "Dean?"

Without answering, Rory stood. "I'm sure I can persuade him."

I had to bite back a dirty comment. "Good."

"Yeah, good. I'll see you tomorrow night," said Rory before kissing my cheek and heading out.

"Okay. See you tomorrow night."

I cringed inwardly as Luke swung his leg over Rory's vacated chair and plopped down next to me. Pulling my ponytail over my shoulder, I averted his gaze as he asked me about Rory seeing Dean. Shit. Why haven't I told him about Rory and Dean being back together? A lot _has _been going on, I guess. With Luke and me preoccupied and all of the Town Selectman hoopla, the state of my daughter's relationship wasn't exactly at the forefront lately. Luke then asked me if I was hiding this information, and I told him no. It was mostly the truth, but I guess deep down maybe I _was_ hiding it. Maybe deep down I was trying to preserve Rory's innocence to the town and to this man who looked after her as if she were his own daughter. Maybe deep down I was not exactly on board with this whole thing with Rory and Dean. But if something good could come from all the drama and hurt that this affair has caused, then that's all I wanted.

Luke stood to go finish shutting down the kitchen as I sat there picking at my pie à la mode. A knot formed at the pit of my stomach, killing my appetite and leaving me feeling a little uneasy. I do not like drama; I have never liked drama. In high school, I had at least one friend from each of the different cliques just to avoid the drama. And also to ensure that I always had someone to talk to if one of my other friends was not there for some reason, but it was mainly to avoid the drama. There's this need in me to please people and knowing that Luke was a little on edge about spending an evening with Dean only made me feel worse. I know he wants what's best for Rory, and I love that about him, but I also do not want things to be any more awkward than they already are.

"You done with that?" Luke asked, jarring me from my thoughts.

I looked down at my untouched slice of pie which was now swimming in a vanilla river of melted ice cream. "Oh, yeah. I guess I wasn't that hungry after all."

Luke cleared the rest of the table and my gaze followed him as he walked back into the kitchen. _Positive thoughts,_ I told myself as I slowly stood and walked around the counter. "So I was thinking we could just pick up some food and see what's playing at the Black, White, and Read."

Luke emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. "When? Tonight?"

"Tomorrow night."

He shrugged with one shoulder. "Whatever you want to do is fine with me."

I carefully studied his face. His handsome face that gave nothing away. "_Is_ it fine?"

"Lorelai…"

I held my hands up in defense. "I'm just making sure. Look, I know the situation seems a little weird."

Luke scoffed softly. "I'll say."

"But," I said, dragging the word out, "you love Rory and want her to be happy, right?" He shot me a pointed look that pretty much answered my question. "Okay, then. This relationship makes her happy."

At least, I hoped it made her happy. Come to think of it, whenever I asked about Dean lately, Rory seemed to divert the conversation. It made me wonder if she was forcing herself to be okay with the situation just like I was. Like mother, like daughter.

"Do you wanna stay tonight? I have early deliveries tomorrow, but…"

A grin bloomed across my face. He was so gentlemanly sometimes. Never would he just assume I would stay or make me feel guilty if I said no. "As much as I would love to stay and tip you as promised, we don't usually _sleep_ when I stay here, and I don't need you any more grumpy than you already will be tomorrow night."

Luke walked me to the door, and I turned to give him a kiss goodbye. He wanted me to stay. I could tell by the firm grip he had on my waist, pulling my body flush with his. But what was that stupid saying? Ah, yes. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. It was true in a way. By not spending every waking hour—and night—with Luke, I was able to appreciate the small stolen moments we did have a helluva lot more. Moments like this: in the quiet, darkened diner where no one knew what we were doing.

Fighting the urge to kick it up a notch, I gently pushed on Luke's chest to break our kiss. "It's bedtime, Grandpa. I'll see you tomorrow. And you'll be on your best behavior, right?"

Luke exhaled through his nose, clearly frustrated but keeping it in check. "It's a night with you, how bad could it be?"

* * *

Turns out, it could be pretty damn bad. After Rory left, Luke could no longer hold in his frustration on the situation. I understood where he was coming from, I _really _did. But I also needed him to understand that I _needed_ this to work. I needed everyone to be able to get along. I needed him to not pick fights with my daughter's boyfriend. The six weeks Rory and I spent not talking this past summer was awful. Yes, I had phone conversations with Luke as a nice distraction, but my world was off kilter. I'm not sure I could survive that again. And maybe my logic was not ideal—brushing our problems aside just to stay in my daughter's good graces—but I played the mom card before, and it backfired.

As Luke and I sat on the couch, something he said earlier niggled its way into my brain. I tipped my beer bottle up, taking a long pull before I asked, "Luke, what did you mean earlier when you said Dean was pining for Rory before he got married?"

He balanced his beer bottle on his knee, staring at it as if he were trying to summon a beer genie who would pop out and give him the answer. Finally, he leaned forward and placed his bottle on the coffee table. "The night before he got married, Dean and a bunch of his buddies came into the diner. A few of them were drunk, including Dean. All of a sudden, he starts saying Rory's name. I didn't want him to embarrass himself, so I told his buddies to leave, and I helped him upstairs. He started spouting on about Rory—about her being the one. I tried to get him to stop talking before he said something he might regret."

I swallowed hard. "And did he?"

Luke turned to face me, and I could see the regret in his eyes. "He said he missed her and asked why she didn't love him. I figured it was the booze, you know? So the next morning I brought him a little hangover concoction I came up with and tried to feel him out on how he was feeling."

"And?"

Luke shrugged. "I tried to bring up what he said. He brushed me off and said he had to go and pick up his tux. I thought that meant maybe it _was_ just the booze talking the night before, but I should have known better."

I stood—suddenly anxious—and removed my coat. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

Luke scooted back against the couch. "I tried finding you, but then I ran into Rory and told her that she shouldn't go to the wedding. I thought that maybe I was doing Dean a favor by having Rory not show up. Like it would keep him on the right path or something. A lot of good that did, right?"

Now that he mentioned it, I did remember Rory telling me that it was Luke who told her we shouldn't go to the wedding. I was so distracted by what Taylor put me through that day over a damn ice cream truck that I didn't even think to question it or seek out Luke to find out why. I should have known he was trying to protect Rory. Suddenly, I was able to see this whole Dean fiasco in a slightly different light. Making excuses for Dean's past behavior won't change anything, I realized. Luke saw something in Dean a long time ago, and he was right. Dean had broken Rory's heart twice.

I sat down next to Luke and pulled his hand into my lap. "You meant well, Luke. Do I wish that you would have told me all of this sooner? Yes, but Rory would have made her own decisions anyway. Maybe I could have kept a better eye on things, who knows. But what's done is done. We can't change what happened that night—as much as I would love to."

Luke's eyebrow furrowed. "What night?"

"Hm?"

"You said we can't change what happened that night. What night?"

Shit. This is why I always tried to steer clear of serious conversations when I'm anxious and there's a little alcohol involved. My brain doesn't filter my thoughts as good as it normally does. Luke stared at me expectantly, and I realized all too late that I opened this can of worms. I chewed my bottom lip as I tried to decide exactly how much information to give him. I took a deep breath.

"Okay. Here's the deal. You get _one _question and then I will answer said question and then this discussion is over. Got it?"

Luke nodded slowly as if he was contemplating that only one question would suffice. Finally, he asked, "Did your fight with Rory this summer have to do with her and Dean?"

Not what I thought he would ask. Relief flooded through me as I nodded. "Technically it was because of my _opinion_ on her and Dean, but yes. So now you can see why I'm less willing to voice my opinion this time around."

"So you're agreeing with me. This Rory-and-Dean thing doesn't feel right."

"I'm saying that it doesn't matter if I agree or not, because it's Rory's relationship, not mine."

As the words left my mouth, I knew they were not true. Of course it mattered. My daughter's happiness would always matter, but I had to let her go through the ebbs and flows of life. How would she grow as a person, as a woman, if I stopped her from experiencing the real world with its real problems and real flaws? Luke would never see Rory as being flawed or imperfect and a sick part of me wanted it to stay that way always. And that's why I did not feel the need to willingly elaborate the rest of the story for him, and he did not push it any further.

I stood and collected our beer bottles, heading to the kitchen to toss them in the garbage. Luke stood and carried the two unopened water bottles and placed them back inside the fridge.

"I _am_ sorry about tonight," said Luke softly. He leaned against the counter with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans.

"It's okay. Now that I know what's been bugging you about Dean, I don't blame you for coming a little unhinged." I hugged him around his middle, resting my head on his chest.

"Yeah?"

I looked up at him. "Yeah." He kissed the tip of my nose as I added, "Maybe we're not ready for double dating. Maybe it should just be the two of us from now on."

Luke sighed—in what seemed like relief—as he removed his hands from his pockets and slipped them into the back of my own. Something about that gesture felt incredibly intimate, sending a delicious tingle down my legs. For the life of me, I could not remember the last time a man did that and frankly, I didn't give a damn. I grabbed a hand full of plaid and pulled Luke in for a kiss. One hand slipped from my back pocket to cradle my cheek as he deepened the kiss.

After a moment, I pulled back—breathless—and asked, "You want that tip now?" 

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks again to those who have left reviews! I'm glad these little snippets of the L's life off-screen are somewhat enjoyable. For this chapter, I went back and forth with whether or not Luke would have told Lorelai what happened with Dean prior to this double-date blowup. I personally feel like had Lorelai known Dean's true feelings, she would have been a little more cautious/aware with the time Rory was spending with Dean. But then again, Rory tends to keep her guy stuff from Lorelai, so there's a chance the same chain of events would have occurred. Okay, rant over :)


	6. You Sound Happy

"Hey, Mom?" asked Rory.

"Yeah?"

"You sound happy."

"I am, kid," I said while looking over at Luke, a huge grin plastered on my face.

"What?" he grunted with a mixture of impatience and pain.

Rory told me she needed go, so I lifted the phone back up to my mouth and said, "Ok, hon. Love you." I set the cordless phone down on the table and picked up my coffee mug. Now that Rory mentioned it, I did feel really happy. Despite the slight hiccup last week on our double date, Luke and I have found a sort of rhythm that works for us. We both have businesses to run and that keeps us pretty busy, so we decided to designate Mondays as our date night. Neither one of us works a nine-to-five job, so Mondays are not that odd of a choice. "She said I sounded happy."

Luke grinned before scooting back inside the oven. "Well I'd be happy, too, if I had someone who dropped everything they were doing to come over and stick _their_ head in a damn oven."

"Okay, Sylvia Plath, you offered to come here, and you've been doing it for years now. I told you I was fine with using my dryer for its intended purpose from now on." I stood and refilled my coffee mug.

"You can't just leave it broken. How else will you cook your disgusting tater tots and frozen pizzas?"

I gasped. "You're right. See, _that's_ why you make me happy."

Luke popped his head out of the oven and looked up at me. "Because I enable your unhealthy eating habits?"

I smiled before stooping down and patting his thigh. "No, because you get me."

He held my gaze for a moment, smiling. "I'll just be a few more minutes. Didn't you have a meeting today?"

With a sigh, I stood back up. "Not until Thursday. Our accountant, Ann, is coming to go over some figures. I'm hoping things aren't too bad."

Luke sat up and started placing his tools inside his toolbox. "Why would it be bad? Business seems to be doing great."

"It is, but it's still really early to tell how great things are going from a financial standpoint." I took a deep breath and exhaled. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

Luke stood and placed his toolbox on the table. "Why? Is your shower leaking? Did you get another spoon stuck in the garbage disposal?"

His tone was teasing, and the grin on his face totally gave him away. "I'm off tomorrow if you maybe wanted to come by tonight and…" I leaned in and kissed him, letting it linger for a second.

"And what?" Luke asked as I pulled back to meet his gaze.

Leaning close to his ear, I whispered, "Change my porch light?" He shot me a pointed look that made me laugh. "I'm kidding, sort of. You can change the light tomorrow, but I was thinking tonight we could watch a movie and hang."

"Sounds good. Call me when you get home." Luke gave me a quick kiss before heading out the back door. 

* * *

The next morning we were in my bed—half-naked, half-awake. Luke had already gone downstairs to fix my coffee which was now forgotten about on my nightstand. I loved mornings with Luke almost as much as our nights. He was his sweetest in the morning. Lightly running his fingers through my hair or kissing any exposed skin on my body, he made me feel wanted. Always. Mornings with Max were never like this. Not that I'm usually in the business of comparing boyfriends, but to be honest, there was no comparison. It felt too awkward having him here with Rory downstairs that I never let myself enjoy the company of another person in my bed. And a part of me was glad. I was glad the first was with Luke because he meant so much more to me. And since I have started comparing things, Luke was way better at—

"It won't take me long to change out that light," said Luke, interrupting my thoughts. "Was there anything you wanted to do today?"

With my chin propped on his chest, I said, "Hmm, let's see. The rest of our week is pretty crazy. I have my meeting tomorrow, and you have one early on Friday with your financial advisor. I work all weekend to cover for Michel. I'll tell ya, it's a good thing we made Monday nights our standing night off so that we can at least spend time together. Ooh, hey! I know you'll probably hate it, but do you want to maybe go to the mall with me? This'll be my first winter as a business owner, and I need to look sharp."

Luke drew lazy circles on my bare back as he thought about my request. "Sure, yeah. I need new boots anyway and maybe a new dress shirt for my meeting Friday."

I laid my head back down and sighed happily. "A productive outing, it is. I need to stop by Doose's at some point, too."

"God, Taylor's turned it into some sort of a truck stop. Hotdogs, nachos, an Icee machine. This town couldn't possibly get any worse."

I chuckled softly. "He's finally putting that suggestion box at Miss Patty's to good use. I'll have to stop by tomorrow after work." Sitting up, I grabbed my lukewarm coffee and watched as Luke climbed out of bed in just a pair of royal blue boxer briefs. I could stay here with him all day if I wanted to. And he wouldn't mind. He was very easily convinced into doing just about anything. Before he could pull on his t-shirt, I told him to wait as I set my coffee cup back down.

He paused, and I sat up on my knees, letting the sheet fall down, exposing my naked upper half. It was an unspoken invitation to which he gladly accepted. He crawled towards me and captured my lips with his, smoothing his hands down my backside until he reached the back of my thighs. In one deft motion, Luke pulled my legs out from under me, and I landed on my back against the mess of pillows behind us. He covered my body with his before slowly trailing kisses down my neck and to my collarbone. It was quick but passionate and took zero convincing whatsoever. 

* * *

"But you should see G.G. She's huge and gorgeous and a belter." I chuckled softly as the maid came back holding the phonebook I requested. "Oh, great. Dinner is served. Let's see. It's been a while since I ordered pizza around here, I wonder if—"

"Mom?" Rory asked. I looked up at her rather perturbed face and she continued, "What made you drive all the way out there?"

She was trying so hard to keep her voice even, but there was a slight edge to her tone. I closed the phonebook and placed both of my hands on top. "I guess I felt bad for your dad. I could hear G.G. crying in the background, and it broke my heart a little bit. I mean, you and I were there when she was born. I can't help but feel a little connected to her. And a small part of me thought that Sherry would appreciate it but that was before I knew she had bailed on them."

Rory pushed her hair behind her ears. "I still can't believe that. She was so happy about having a baby. Do you remember when we had that bonding night, and she told me that had she not met Dad, she would have considered single parenthood? None of this makes sense."

"I know, but your dad'll have us to help get him through it." I reopened the phonebook and flipped to the P's.

Rory was quiet for a moment before she said, "He needs to ask for our help. You can't always be the one swooping in to save the day, Mom. Let him call you. Besides, don't you and Luke have date night on Mondays? You shouldn't cancel it on Dad's account."

She was right. I hadn't thought of the fact that when it came to Christopher, I tend to bend to his will. We have this tiny thread that connects us, and I think it always will, but that doesn't mean I owed him anything. Honestly, now that the mad-at-Sherry fog has lifted, I can understand a tiny bit why Sherry would have felt overwhelmed with being left with G.G. Christopher never fully committed to them—like he couldn't commit to me and Rory a few years back.

"Okay, I'll let him come to me, but let the record show, that will mostly likely happen." I sighed before looking back down. "Okay, I'm officially starving. Will it be Angelina's or George's?" 

* * *

The weekend passed quickly, and before I knew it, it was already Monday. What normally is a pretty mellow day turned into complete chaos thanks to Sookie and Kirk. I decided to leave for the day at three instead of four so that I could stop at Luke's and make sure he didn't think I had anything to do with Kirk showing up at the diner dressed as a giant hotdog.

I cringed inwardly when I entered the diner and Luke didn't so much as smile at me. "Hey."

Luke hesitated, refusing to look at me. "Is the hotdog with you?"

"No, Kirk is at home." I sat down, setting my purse down on the stool next to me, and rested my arms on the countertop. My hopes lifted when I saw Luke grab a mug and fill it with coffee.

"Good, make sure he stays there," said Luke without looking up.

My eyes stayed fix on his face, willing him to look at me. "I will. So, are you still mad at me?"

Finally, his gaze flicked to mine. "Nope."

I couldn't help but needle him. "You seem mad."

He turned and placed the coffee pot back on the burner before facing me. "Not mad, just bugged."

Mad, bugged; it all felt the same coming from Luke. The guy hardly ever gave anything away. If there was one thing I hated, though, it was being shut out. "Luke, I swear, Kirk will never bother your business on our behalf again."

"Oh, it's not that."

"What, then?" I asked, thinking something came up and he was cancelling on our date.

To my surprise, he said, "I got this table of bozos sitting over there all day long ordering nothing but iced tea."

Relief flooded me as I turned to see who it was he was referring to. I already knew who it would be, but there was no way I could tell Luke that Norman Mailer was here because of Sookie's freakout. What were the odds? I turned back around, trying desperately not to laugh, and picked up my mug. "Oh, bummer."

"Yeah, well, luckily it's been pretty slow in here." Luke moved to the end of the counter to cash out a customer.

"Oh, hey. Do you want to hear a crazy story?"

"Do I have a choice?" He looked over and grinned.

"Remember the other day I told you that Sookie was upset about Ann suggesting we cut out lunch hence the reason Kirk was here today in a hotdog costume?"

Luke looked up toward the ceiling, eyes squinted as he searched his memory bank. "Maybe. That certainly explains a lot."

"Well, as it turns out, Sookie's nuttiness is because she's pregnant. It's not confirmed by a doctor or anything yet, so try not to spread the word, Walter Burns."

"I'll try to refrain." After a moment, Luke chuckled. "Wow. Looks like they were serious about that four-in-four thing."

"Apparently," I said, sipping my coffee and letting my mind wander back to that moment with Luke at the dance marathon a few years ago. There were many moments over the years for us that held promise of something more. We were both too naive or scared to ever make an attempt.

My eyes ran over his face as he sorted through his receipts behind the counter in front of me. A warmth filled my chest at the thought of us actually doing it: making a relationship work despite all of the reasons not to. The risk to our friendship if things go south, the fact that we are complete opposites when it comes to our lifestyles, the baggage that each of us carries around from previous failed relationships. But the bottom line was that we made each other happy, and after everything we have both been through over the years, we deserved to be happy. 

* * *

**A/N:** So I totally made up Monday date nights. I needed a reason that Lorelai never drives back to Boston to check on Chris & G.G. Also, Luke & Lorelai's very first date was on a Monday night, so why not? Thanks, again, for following along & leaving reviews :)


	7. Nitwit Juice

"Make the call," I said once I realized Lorelai was doing some sort of crazy bit. Although I wasn't surprised by her antics, she still never failed to catch me off-guard once in a while.

"I see dead people," Lorelai responded in a creepy voice. She was really taking crazy to a whole new level.

"Make the call." I watched as she begrudgingly flipped open her cellphone. After checking on a couple of people, I came back behind the counter where she still sat with a pout on her face. I reached for a mug, filled it with coffee, and slid it in front of her. "So?"

She exhaled dramatically before taking a sip of coffee, eyeing me over the rim of the mug. "We had a good run. How long was it? About a month?"

"Lorelai…"

"Surprisingly not my shortest relationship but the first to end over dinner with my mother."

"Would you stop?"

She lifted up her thin blue scarf and handed me the end of it. Confused, I let it sit in the palm of my hand as I waited for her to tell me what I was supposed to do. "Give it a good tug."

I dropped the end of the scarf as if it had burned me. "That's _not _funny. It's just one dinner, why are you acting so crazy about this?"

Lorelai scoffed. "Luke, how many times have you witnessed the aftermath of what my mother is capable of invoking? What makes you think she'll spare you? I know _exactly _how the evening is gonna play out, my friend. She'll be Jessica Lange in _Hush_. You'll think Emily's all sweet and loving and then boom! She's putting drugs in your dessert and forcing you to give birth in a bed with no pain medicine."

"Okay, you've officially gone off the deep end."

"All I'm saying is don't let her fool you. Behind that thin, almost microscopic sweet exterior lies a piranha waiting to tear you to shreds."

I couldn't help but grin at her dramatic embellishments. "When does this death by piranha take place?"

"Tomorrow night. I figured the sooner the better, and if you're not completely mangled afterward, we can catch a late movie or go get a drink. I might prefer the latter."

I told her that that sounded fine and then asked about Rory. She perked up a bit as she filled me in on the last conversation they had about school and the newspaper. Talking about Rory always seemed to make Lorelai forget her troubles. Unless the trouble involved Rory in which case I would turn the focus onto something else. I've stored backup conversational topics over the years and can pull them out when necessary. This drama over dinner, however, would be a tough topic to brush aside.

Later on that night I was folding the small amount of laundry I had when the phone rang. "Hello?"

"Okay, so my mother just called to tell me that the dress code for dinner is casual. As a matter of fact, she insisted."

I held the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I started to place the folded laundry back into the basket to pick up later. "Well casual to me doesn't mean the same thing as casual to your mother, I'm sure." I opened my closet door and rummaged through my shirts hanging inside. My collection consisted of mainly plaid and flannel with the occasional solid-colored dress shirt.

Lorelai sighed. "I guess date-night casual, but no plaid and no hat. And maybe your leather jacket?"

"It's at the cleaners, remember?"

"Oh, right. The chili-cheese-nachos incident. Well, your black jacket'll be fine. It's not like you'll wear it at the dinner table."

"What are you wearing?"

Without missing a beat—and in this husky voice she knew drove me crazy—Lorelai said, "Those lacy boyshort panties you've become so fond of."

I chuckled softly. "I meant to dinner. What are you wearing to dinner?"

"Oh, _I _have to be dressed in my Friday-night-dinner best. She wants _you_ to be comfortable. She already knows I won't be."

As it turned out, comfortable was not how I would describe our dinner the next night. Emily's snide comments were so ingratiating in delivery that I didn't realize until afterward that they were insults. From my failed marriage to the simple cloth of my black jacket. And Lorelai knew how the evening would unfold. I'm sure no one would blame me for thinking her stories were a bit exaggerated at times, but I saw first hand exactly what she dealt with on a weekly basis. Only, this was dialed down to about a five. I didn't want to think about what an evening with Emily Gilmore felt like when it was turned up to a ten.

Off of the highway, we stopped at this little dive bar that had a motel attached to it. Not exactly a place I imagined Lorelai frequenting, but it was cleaner on the inside than the outside would lead you to believe. It was a Sunday night so the bar was pretty empty except for a table of guys in the corner watching a Jets game. We opted to sit at the bar.

"What'll it be?" asked the bartender as he placed a bowl of peanuts and two napkins down in front of us. Lorelai ordered a Manhattan with extra cherries, which I made a mental note of, and I ordered a pint of whatever they had on tap. He delivered our drinks and asked, "Anything else?" We told him no and he moved down to the end of the bar to take a drink order. Lorelai turned on her stool to face me and held up her drink.

"Cheers," she said as she clinked her glass to mine.

I watched as she gulped her drink, capturing a cherry in the process. She chewed it thoughtfully, and I could tell her mind was processing the evening we both incurred. I've dealt with people like the Gilmores before but on more of a business level. Never have I dated someone from that world, and honestly, I can see why. Living a life based on how much money a person had or how they appeared on the outside to the people around them seemed exhausting. But Lorelai wasn't like them, and I see it now more than ever. Her capability of being independent, her good business sense, even her preferred choices in cuisine proved that she was her own person.

I got in a few sips of beer before she was already finished with her drink. She flagged down the bartender and pointed to her empty glass. He snatched it up and refilled it with round number two. I placed my hand on her knee and gave it a squeeze. "You okay?"

She looked over at me and smiled. Her glassy eyes told me that she was already buzzed. "I'm great. It's over and done with, and I don't have to worry about it anymore. The weird part is that I can't really tell how she felt about you. I mean, I don't care what she thinks. You know that, but I hate that I couldn't get a read on her." She blew out her cheeks. "You did great, by the way."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She tried so hard to bait you, but you never lost your cool." She pointed her finger at me, pistol-style. "You know how to kill 'em with kindness. All I do is annoy them with sarcasm."

"If it's possible, I don't think she dislikes me any more than she already did."

"Hear, hear," said Lorelai as she raised her half-empty glass to meet my almost empty one. She giggled softly. "You want to hear something funny? The first time my mother met you she thought we were dating."

My eyebrows furrowed as I tried to think back to the first time I met the Gilmores. "When was that?"

"Rory's birthday party? Sweet sixteen? She said you looked at me like I was about to give you a lap dance."

I choked on my last gulp of beer and started coughing, eyes watering. "What?"

Lorelai patted my back until the coughing subsided. "To this day, I'm not sure if that was a dig or not. I mean, she basically called me a stripper."

We both broke into a fit of laughter; the kind that hurts your stomach and causes tears to form in your eyes. It had been a while since I laughed like that. The fact that it was Emily Gilmore-induced made it all the funnier.

I grabbed a handful of peanuts and popped a couple into my mouth. "So what did you tell her?"

"Told who what?" She pinched a cherry between her thumb and forefinger, lifting it out of the glass.

"Your mother when she asked if we were dating then."

"That we were friends, which we were. God forbid two people show affection without sleeping together, right?"

A beat of silence passed between us, and I couldn't help but ask the question that had been on my mind for eight years. "Did you ever think about it?"

Her eyes searched mine as she chewed on her mouthful of cherries. She knew what I was asking without me having to clarify it. Her focus turned to her glass which had about two fingers left of amber liquid inside of it. "Probably more times than you think."

Considering I was thinking "none" would be her response, this confession was not what I was expecting. There were many times over the years when I thought things would happen a lot sooner than they did, but it usually felt one-sided or the timing was off. Never would I have thought she was thinking about me in a sexual way. "Really?" I said with what I knew was a smug grin.

Lorelai grinned. "Oh, look at you, Mr. Cocky."

"I'm not being cocky. I'm genuinely surprised is all." The bartender came back to check on us, and I told him we were done while placing a twenty down on the bar top.

"Why does that surprise you?" Lorelai asked after the bartender walked away. "I'm not exactly a prude."

Smiling, I exhaled sharply. "I never once thought you were a prude. You just…"

"Never made it seem like I would have thought of you like that?"

"Sometimes, yes."

"Well it may also surprise you to know that I always thought I repulsed you. Not physically but with my coffee and eating habits." We stood and made our way outside.

"It does repulse me," I said which earned me a playful swat on the arm as we walked over to my truck. Before opening her door, I turned her around and pressed myself into her. "But there are many, many good things about you that make me forget those disgusting habits."

She wrapped her arms around my neck. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

I dipped my head and touched my lips to hers. The taste of cherries and whiskey filled my mouth as her tongue slid inside. We broke apart at the sound of the bar door opening and a couple of guys walking out, cackling to each other. I pushed a loose curl behind her ear and said, "Let's get outta here." 

* * *

I've never felt as less of a man as I did while attempting to play golf with Richard Gilmore. Golf isn't necessarily a manly sport by any means, but when you're trying to impress your girlfriend's father, golf might as well be up there with rugby. Baseball was more my element, and I'd be willing to bet that Richard has never picked up a baseball bat or played catch in his entire life. Nor did he understand that there were more important things in life than fancy art and becoming a millionaire business owner. He didn't know me or my history. The fact that I built my business basically from the ground up on my own was irrelevant to him. And I knew a thing or two about finances. Otherwise, I wouldn't have made the decision to keep that building Taylor pays me good money to rent. I believe, in the financial world, that's called an investment. Big-city folk always tend to underestimate us small-city guys.

I kept that thought in mind as I made my way to the valet at the front of the country club. The valet guy exchanged my truck keys for the little ticket I pulled out of my jacket pocket. Lorelai had suggested I get coffee but I'd rather spend six more hours practicing my swing at the driving range than put that caffeinated poison into my body. I rummaged around in my glove box and found a power bar. After about ten minutes, the effect of the whiskey lessened enough for me to see straight. There was a gas station not far from the club, so I stopped in to grab a bottle of water and a bag of plain potato chips. It would be enough to hold me over until I got home.

A couple of hours later Lorelai came over to try and salvage what was left of me emotionally now that the whiskey had worn off. It had been an odd couple of days, and I needed her to keep me grounded which was weird considering I'm usually the one doing that for her. The initial plan was for us to go out, but as soon as she entered my apartment, I had to have her. I wanted to forget everything that had happened and how unimportant her parents made me feel. I wanted her to never forget how much I cared for her despite what her parents thought about me.

It was a little rough—which I knew she didn't mind. Afterward, I couldn't help but pile on the sweetness. I ran my fingers through her loose curls and kissed her bare shoulder. Her back was to my front, so I couldn't read her expression when she asked if I was okay.

"I'm fine, why? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

She quickly turned over. "No, no." She smiled as she smoothed a hand down my cheek. Richard's remark about having me shaved surfaced, but I pushed the thought away. "You know I like the occasional roughness. It's just that I know this week has been a little daunting, and I want make sure you're okay."

I kissed her softly, rubbing my thumb along her jaw. "I know it doesn't really matter in the long run, but I guess sometimes…" I took a deep breath and exhaled. "I wish they thought a little more of me."

"You're right, it doesn't matter. You're amazing. They'll never know you like I know you, Luke. Or how Rory knows you or this town. That's all that should matter."

She was right, but deep down, it had to matter a little bit. Without their approval, it meant there would most likely be conflict at some point and that was something I wasn't used to. I cared deeply for Lorelai. I loved her. But having people interfere with our relationship? It seemed petty and toxic and like a complete waste of energy. As time goes on, we'll see what happens. Until then, I'm keeping a low profile from the Gilmores. 

* * *

**A/N:** It has bugged me for years that Luke wore jeans to that first dinner with Emily. I had to rectify it & decided to put the blame on her hehe. It's the only way to explain it! Thanks again for continuing to read these random scenes :)


	8. Thanks For Dinner

"Thanks for dinner," I said, wishing this wasn't the end to what would have probably been a _very_ good night. It was our first real moment alone all evening thanks to the dinner theater that was Liz and T.J. Dinner, more specifically the food, was great. I knew Luke could cook—his pancakes were the best on the East Coast. But this was not just cooking. This was flare and a little POW! This was gourmet. This was Luke showing off, and I loved every moment of it.

Instead of responding, Luke wrapped one arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I rose up on tiptoes and touched my lips to his. His grip on my waist tightened as he deepened the kiss, letting me know that he, too, was not ready for the evening to be over. We stayed in our bubble of lust and want for a moment, despite the screaming coming from Luke's bathroom, before one final kiss and a begrudgingly said "goodnight."

I slid into my Jeep and placed my cheesecake on the passenger seat before heading home. Thoughts of our first date filled my mind as I pulled into my driveway. Luke remembered the cheesecake. The very same cheesecake I practically had to force feed him that night along with a few sips of champagne. A grin bloomed across my face as I remembered what came next.

The front door was locked which told me that Rory hadn't yet made it home. Dean was picking her up, Rory mentioned, so I figured maybe they went to a late movie. I had the urge to call her cell to see what other shenanigans my parents tried to pull on her but decided to wait it out. I shrugged off my coat, hanging it in the foyer, and made my way to the kitchen. Wine sounded really good, but since I had a few glasses at Luke's, I opted for a bottle of water. I stood in my quiet, empty kitchen sipping slowly as my mind started to wander.

I knew something about the evening my parents planned sounded off. Rory was so excited about the fact that they had planned it together she didn't see the obvious red flags. She always wanted to believe that everyone had good intentions, but when it came to my parents, I knew better.

I placed my half-empty bottle back into the fridge and grabbed a fork from the drawer next to the stove. The cheesecake was calling my name. Plopping down on the couch, I reached for the remote and flipped through the channels. Jon Stewart's monologue was just starting so I decided on that as I picked up my container of cheesecake and dug in. A half hour—and half a cheesecake—later Rory was still not home. I couldn't wait any longer.

The phone call was brief yet infuriating; my parents really thought I was as naive as Rory. My rage at them was at a simmer. Why do they always think they know what's best for everybody? Why don't they think I'm capable of keeping my daughter on the right path or that my choices are what's best for _me_? Hell, _I'm _the one who helped Rory get into three Ivy League colleges, not them. Financially, yes, they were a big help. Huge. But throwing money at a problem doesn't always solve it, and I knew that better than anyone.

Before my rage could turn into a full on boil, I heard a car pull up outside. To my surprise, and shock, it wasn't Dean's truck but a limo. And there she was. My beautiful, naive daughter practically falling out of the car as two other guys started whooping and cheering her on. I stood frozen by the window until I heard the front door open and shut. What just happened? I thought.

"Nice jewels, Queen Elizabeth," I said as Rory walked into the living room. Her eyes were glassy and her cheeks flushed. She was drunk.

She giggled as she reached for the huge diamond around her neck. "Oh, shoot! I forgot to give these back to grandma! You think she'll be mad?"

Her words were slurred, and I felt my chest tighten. I've had my fair share of drunken evenings, I was no martyr, but this was not Rory. Something happened tonight. "Come here. Let me help you get those things off in one piece or else I'll have to put the inn up as collateral on a loan to pay your grandmother back."

We sat on the couch as I removed each piece of jewelry, setting them carefully on the coffee table until I could figure out when to get them back to my mother. Rory spotted my half-eaten cheesecake and picked up the container, helping herself.

I watched her for a moment before I gently asked, "So, what happened to Dean picking you up tonight?"

Rory paused mid-bite and looked up at me with those big doe-like eyes. She placed the fork back into the container and stared down at her lap. "We broke up," she said so quietly I almost missed it.

I grabbed the remote and muted the t.v just as Jon was introducing Kay Bailey. "What happened? I thought things were going so well."

Rory shrugged. "Apparently not. I mean, it's not like we've been able to see each other a whole lot lately. School keeps me busy, and he has work. Things are just…different." She said the word different as if she were just realizing it herself. And maybe she was.

"I'm sorry, hon. Sometimes things don't work out. No matter how much we might want them to, some things aren't meant to be." I smoothed a stray hair out of her face. There was this nagging feeling that this had something to do with the party tonight, but before I could question her further, Rory stood and said she was tired. She kissed my cheek and padded slowly to her room, shutting the door behind her.

I felt helpless. No mother liked to see their child in pain, and this was the second time in six months I had to witness it. Without thinking, I reached for the phone and called Luke. He answered after three rings, and I immediately felt better.

"Did Sid and Nancy finally leave?" I asked after he explained he had just gotten out of the shower.

"Not long after you left. I think you jinxed me with your angry make-up sex comment, though."

"Oh, god," I groaned. "What happened?"

I listened as Luke explained that the shouting got quieter and quieter until it was pretty much nonexistent. He was making a list of things he needed from Doose's for tomorrow's dinner, another surprise he said, when he heard what sounded like his bottles of shampoo and body wash hit the shower floor.

"Long story short," said Luke, "I got them out of there before things went any further."

"You do realize we won't be able to have sex in your shower for a while now, right?"

Luke chuckled softly—that deep, throaty kind that drove me crazy. "What about you? Did you ever get through to your parents?"

I sighed before explaining the rest of my evening including the short but futile conversation with Rory. I left out the part about her being drunk. Luke was a father figure to Rory, and I didn't want his opinion of her to be tainted, yet again.

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, my mind whirring and processing everything. Luke being Luke picked up on my mood and said, "Hey, everything will be fine. And tomorrow you will come here and we'll forget all the craziness that happened tonight, and I promise to keep the door locked so that we have _no _interruptions."

I smiled despite my sullen tenor. "Sounds good. Goodnight, Luke."

* * *

The next morning I took Rory shopping as promised. I was hoping she'd use the opportunity to fill me in further on what exactly happened at that party. She didn't. But she did reassure me that she was doing okay despite the breakup with Dean. Third time was not the charm.

By the evening, I was getting more and more excited to spend some quality time with Luke. Work kept the both of us pretty busy, but we squeezed in as much time as possible whenever possible. On my shopping trip with Rory, I slipped into Victoria's Secret as she perused the new releases at Barnes & Noble. I had a drawer full of lingerie, so technically I didn't need anything new, but there was nothing like a little retail therapy to take your mind off of your problems. Or in my case, Rory's problems.

There was a certain piece of lingerie that I had never been brave enough to own. Surprising, I know, but some men can't deal with a little kinkiness. Luke was not that man. The aforementioned garment was a black, sheer mesh and floral lace corset with a matching G-string. It was incredibly sexy, and I couldn't wait to see Luke's face when he saw me in it. It was colder outside than I thought it was going to be, so instead of an easy-to-pull-off dress, I had to opt for something a little warmer, more practical. Dressed in jeans and my dark blue turtleneck sweater, I headed for Luke's.

When he opened his apartment door, a delicious smell hit me; I couldn't quite place it but it was definitely mouth-watering. He greeted me with a kiss, slow and deep, sending a tingle straight to my core.

"What smells so good?" I asked as I removed my coat and hung up my purse.

Luke locked the door—as promised—and walked back over to the stove. "Parmesan risotto with lamb shanks."

"He says like it's no big deal," I quipped as I peeked over his shoulder at the pot of creamy rice. "You do know Sookie is famous for her risotto, right? You have some stiff competition, my friend."

"I think I can handle it." The timer on the stove dinged, and I watched as Luke grabbed his oven mitts. He pulled out what looked like a crusty cake and set it on top of the counter where a trivet was waiting.

"And what is that?"

"That," said Luke as he closed the oven door, "is a pastry-wrapped brie with raspberries."

"Okay, Señor Fancypants, I think you've outdone yourself this weekend."

Luke grabbed a pack of crackers and some baguette slices and placed them on a plate. He went to the fridge and pulled out a small bowl of grapes, setting it next to the plate. "I bought way more lamb than I thought I needed yesterday, so I figured I'd cook the rest of it tonight. You don't mind, right?"

"Are you kidding? You're talking to the girl who can eat a cheeseburger everyday for lunch."

"True," said Luke before taking a quick sip of his beer. He offered me one as I sat down at the table, and I said yes. "How was shopping?"

We talked a little bit about our day: how I couldn't get much out of Rory and how he had to drive out to Woodbury to buy the brie because Taylor had no idea what Luke was talking about. As much as I loved date nights with Luke, this was even better. It was just us—unless his brother-in-law was busting in. I'm a dinner-and-a-movie girl to the fullest, but there was something so comforting about keeping things low-key and hanging out in his apartment. As an added bonus, it wasn't so bad to be with a guy who loved to cook and more importantly, he loved to cook for _me. _

After dinner, Luke let me slice open the brie. We both watched as creamy, melty cheese combined with raspberry jam flowed slowly out of the pastry shell. I dredged a slice of baguette through the puddle of cheese as Luke gingerly dipped one of his grapes before popping it into his mouth.

"You can do better than that. Here," I said as I grabbed a cracker and scooped up a pile of cheese. I held it up to his mouth and waited for him to open it. When he didn't, I smiled sweetly and said, "Please. I have a surprise for you, but you won't get it unless you eat this."

Luke grinned. "I have a surprise for you, too, but if you make me eat that, you won't get it."

My eyes narrowed, but I couldn't help but smile. Luke wasn't exactly known for his surprises—unless you count kissing me after a screaming match on the porch of the Dragonfly. It was safe to say that I was intrigued, so I shoved the cracker into my own mouth and stared him down as I chewed. I took a sip of beer to wash it all down and said, "Let's see what you got."

Luke stood, holding my gaze, and walked around the table. He held out his hand and pulled me up flush against him. "Wait here," he said, low and gravelly in my ear.

Confusion set in when I watched him walk to the bathroom and shut the door. "Odd time to go to the bathroom," I mumbled as I stood there. After a minute or so, I walked over to the bed and sat down on the end. "Is this part of the surprise, because I gotta tell you—"

The bathroom door opened and out walked Luke. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped as I took in the sight of him. He was undressed down to his boxer briefs but it was the top of his head I was focused on. He smiled. "What do you think?"

"When did you…where did you?" I stuttered as I stood and walked over to him.

"Costume shop in Woodbury."

My grin widened. "I can't believe you found a Mountie hat."

He pulled me close and tipped up my chin, placing a soft kiss on my lips. "You like it?"

"Like? About ten different dirty scenarios popped into my head when you walked out here, so what do you think?"

Without answering, Luke kissed his way across my jawline, then down my neck, and then to the sensitive spot underneath my ear. I melted into him, completely forgetting about the surprise I had for him as well. It wasn't until he snaked his hand under my sweater that I remembered what I was wearing underneath. He stood back as I pulled my turtleneck up and over my head. I made quick work of my jeans, pushing them down over my hips. Standing there in all my corset-and-thong glory, I said, "Surprise."

Luke's eyes roamed down my body as my heart rate kicked up a notch. "I'll say."

Smiling devilishly, I hooked my pointer finger into the front of his boxer briefs and pulled him closer. I flicked the brim of his hat and said, "Let's see if you can keep this thing perfectly balanced."

Spoiler alert: He did.


	9. I Gotta Go, Kiss

"Oh, by the way, it's fine about lunch," said Luke as I fished around my purse looking for my house key. My head whipped up at his sudden remark. For a second, I had no clue what he was referring to; the effects of his kisses were still lingering. "You having lunch with Christopher—I just want you to know I'm fine with it."

Unbelievable. There we were having a very steamy make-out session on my front porch not even thirty seconds prior, and the whole time he was thinking about my lunch with Christopher and Rory? Maybe it was a distraction. Kind of like the baseball thing when men try not to get too turned on too quickly. I believed him when he said he couldn't stay because of early deliveries, but I didn't believe him when he said he was fine. When people say that they are fine, it usually means they are not. I would know. I've said it plenty of times when Rory would pepper me with questions about something I was stressed about. Bills, school, the latest breakup. It was a defense mechanism.

As I sat on my bed—a bowl of popcorn in my lap—I thought about this past week and how all over the place it felt. The solo dinner with my mother wasn't terrible. Helping her get ready for a date with a man who wasn't my father? That was beyond weird and uncharted territory that I'd rather not think about. Luke's and my impromptu PDA over the counter at the diner on Tuesday was a definite plus. A smile spread slowly across my face as I remembered the shyness I felt afterward. We were not the "let's put our relationship on display" types, but after hearing Rory say that Luke and I were so loopholey and sock-hoppy, I couldn't help it. It was that thought combined with Luke's insistence that he was fine that kept me from calling Christopher back.

How can something that I was so sure wasn't a big deal make two of the most important people in my life question my actions? Christopher's been a friend for so long and having him in my life as only a friend was totally fine with me. Being with Luke helped me see that _he_ was the only man that I wholeheartedly wanted to be with. There was zip going on inside me when I saw or even talked to Chris, and I have to say that that was a huge relief. But still. I wasn't willing to risk what I had with Luke to carry on with Chris—talking on the phone late into the night like we were still teenagers. 

* * *

"So their entire bathroom is destroyed?" I asked Luke as I sat at the counter the next morning eating what was left of my Jack cheese omelet.

"Like someone took a sledgehammer to it." Luke refilled my coffee mug before making the rounds to the other patrons who were still enjoying their breakfasts. When he returned behind the counter, he said, "It's safe to say that we should never ask him to hang a towel rack at either of our places."

I snorted at the thought of T.J. doing any kind of handyman work around my house. "Duly noted." After a beat of silence, I asked, "Are you helping him repair the damage?"

"I cut his pipe. That's all the help he's getting from me. Are you done?"

Biting back a "dirty", I handed my empty plate over before taking one last swig of coffee. Luke took both items and stuck them in the bin underneath the counter.

When I got to the diner an hour before, Luke greeted me with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was peak breakfast hour, so the diner was pretty packed, and I told myself that I'd be a little lacking in energy, too, if I was up at five in the morning. But as I watched him sort through his tickets, I couldn't help but feel he was still dwelling on the lunch—the lunch that technically didn't even happen. Why did I tell him that it did? In retrospect, I could have saved Luke the worry that was clearly—or possibly—weighing on his mind.

I cleared my throat and reached out my hand, placing it on top of Luke's to still his motions. "Is everything okay?"

Luke looked up with only his eyes. "Yeah. A little tired, I guess. Didn't get much sleep last night."

"Well I don't have to be at the inn until late this afternoon, so how about when Lane gets here we go upstairs, and I'll give you one of my famous back rubs."

My tone was not suggestive, but Luke's eyes searched the diner to make sure no one was in earshot as if I had suggested he take me on top of the counter while everyone around us watched. I'd be lying if I said the perverse part of me hadn't thought of that since we got together. He said a quiet "okay" which gave me a little triumphant feeling. A, because he'd do pretty much anything I'd ask him to and B, I liked to see him squirm even when it was unintentional.

Ten minutes later we made our way upstairs. Luke made a beeline for the fridge to pour himself a glass of orange juice as I sat on his leather chair and turned the t.v. on. After channel surfing for a few seconds, I called out, "You should consider getting a DVD player."

"Why would I need a DVD player? We watch movies at your place."

"Yes, but we don't always stay at my place. We could watch movies here, too." I turned off the t.v. and stood. "It's just a suggestion."

"Speaking of suggestions…" He stepped forward and tugged at the front of my sweater, giving me that lopsided grin I loved.

I brought my arms up and around his neck and said, "I was serious about the back rub. It was not a euphemism."

Without answering, Luke dipped his head and touched his lips to mine. That same fire from our kiss last night still crackled underneath the surface, but I couldn't let that distract me. I needed to get him talking so that I could make sure he wasn't still hung up on the events from yesterday. I placed my hand on his chest and gently pushed, breaking the kiss.

"I mean it. Remove your shirts and get on the bed. Do you have any massage oil?"

"I think you left some lotion in the bathroom the other night," said Luke, whipping both shirts off in one fluid motion.

Sure enough, there was a bottle of Cucumber Melon lotion sitting on the edge of his tub. It wasn't often I left my toiletries at Luke's apartment, so when I did, it was only one or two things and never on purpose. I wasn't one of those girls who felt the need to litter a guy's bathroom with my belongings as some sort of way to mark my territory. I haven't lasted long enough in a relationship to do that. No real time was spent at Max's place and Jason had only just given me the key to his apartment before things went south. Not that I ever would have needed to bring toiletries to Jason's; he had more skincare products than I did.

Luke lay on the bed face down in only his boxer briefs when I emerged from the bathroom, and I couldn't help but grin at the sight of him. After kicking off my tennis shoes, I carefully climbed onto the bed and swung my right leg over his body so I could straddle his butt.

"This'll be a little cold," I said as I squeezed a line of lotion down the length of his spine.

He flinched at the first contact but relaxed when I started to work the lotion into his skin. I started at his lower back, using the balls of my hands to apply pressure in concentric circles. His skin was so soft and his muscles nice and taught. It was a shame he kept it all covered with those baggy plaid shirts. But then again, I kind of loved that it was only me who got to see the goods. As I moved up his back and toward his shoulders—his soft groans reassuring me that I was doing a good job—I decided to broach the subject.

"No wonder you couldn't sleep, your back is in knots." He grunted in response so I kept going. "I get like that, too, whenever I'm stressed or overthinking something. Makes me restless."

With that, Luke turned his head and asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Luke, come on. You can't fool me. I know you've been thinking about what happened yesterday."

He turned fully onto his back, nearly toppling me over in the process, and sat up on his elbows. "I told you I was fine. Why are you bringing it up?"

I slid off of his legs and tucked my feet underneath me. "Because I may have embellished a little bit yesterday."

Luke slowly pushed himself into a seated position—his gaze never leaving mine.

"Christopher was invited with the intent to have lunch with me and Rory. And G.G., of course. But he left before we even ordered our food. Technically, there was no lunch."

"Then why not tell me that?"

I blew out my cheeks. "It was just easier to paint a happy picture rather than to tell you that Rory and Chris had some sort of disagreement that I didn't even know about. And the lunch didn't even register to me as a big deal. In my mind, it was two friends who happen to share a kid getting together to dote on said kid."

"I get that. And I wasn't mad. I felt a little out of the loop is all."

I smiled. "Say that next time. Don't wait until the end of a date when you have me all turned on."

"You were turned on?" asked Luke with a smug grin.

"Hello? It doesn't take much, you know that. Now turn over so I can finish what I started, and maybe I'll let you finish what _you_ started."

He turned back over, and I continued my ministrations. "Oh, total mood killer, but my mother called earlier to tell me that, with her and my father separated, they won't be doing their annual Thanksgiving shindig this year. Apparently, he booked a trip to meet with a client, so she's volunteering somewhere. And I was thinking…"

"I'm not going to Sookie's, and I'm _not _going to Mrs. Kim's. I'll be doing the same thing I do every year, here at the diner."

I used my thumbs to work the knots at the base of Luke's neck. "First of all, Sookie is having an aversion to poultry right now so she'll be cooking non-traditional food at the inn instead. And second of all, Lane still isn't on great terms with her mother so we don't have to worry about going there."

"So then what are your plans?"

"Rory and I will spend our entire day here. I'm sure you could use the help, and it's our first major holiday as a couple."

We bantered back and forth about how Luke doesn't consider it a major holiday because of the way it was all started to which I countered that it's a federal holiday for schools and banks so technically it was considered major. By the time I finished his massage, Luke was feeling loose and sleepy, so I pulled off my jeans and climbed into bed with him where we slept for almost two hours.

The sound of rain hitting the window woke me, and I mentally kicked myself for volunteering to work check-out for Michel so that he could go get his eyebrows—and god knows what else—waxed. All I wanted was to lay here for the rest of the day with Luke in our bubble of warmth and contentment. He stirred as if he could hear my brain whirring away.

"What time do you need to leave?" asked Luke, his voice low and hoarse from sleep.

I sighed. "Now, but I can come back later tonight." I slipped out of bed and pulled on my jeans before taking a quick look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Aw, man. I have nap face. That's better than having sex hair, I guess."

Luke chuckled softly. "You do not have nap face. Your cheeks are a little flushed. The same thing happens when…"

I shut the bathroom light off and stood in the doorway, head cocked to the side. "When what?"

Luke rolled over on his side and propped himself up with his elbow. "When you get…you know."

I did know, but I wanted him to say it. "No, I don't know. Mad?"

"No."

"Embarrassed?" I asked, inching my way closer to the side of the bed.

"Lorelai…"

"Well then you'll have to"—Luke reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me down on the bed and covering my body with his—"tell me."

He kissed me, deeply. The kind of kiss that takes your breath away and sends tingles to all sorts of places. If my cheeks were merely flushed before, I would be willing to bet they were as crimson as Luke's boxer briefs when he pulled away with this grin that said "I told you so without having to tell you."

Smoothing a hand down his cheek, I said, "I'm crazy about you."

His grin faded as he said, "Same here."

We smiled adoringly at each other before I said, "I really need to go."

Luke reluctantly rolled off of me. "I'll be here when you get back."

"I'll be thinking about that." I pulled him in for one last kiss before putting my shoes on and heading out into the rainy November weather.


	10. I Have A Dark Day

**A/N:** I know some people are sensitive to matters concerning death, so I wanted to put a small, teeny tiny warning at the beginning of this chapter. It _is_ the episode concerning Luke's Dark Day, so a little darkness is to be expected, but nothing graphic, I promise. Enjoy! 

* * *

_I walk down the long, narrow corridor that has become so familiar over the last few months. Everything is a harsh white—the floors, the walls, the ceiling—illuminated by the fluorescent lights above me. Sterile is the word that comes to mind. There's nothing cheery or comforting about this place. No laughter, no smiles. It's a place where people come to die. _

_I enter the room I've come to know so well. I wish I didn't know it. I wish none of this was happening. The room is dark—a stark contrast to the world outside of it. There's a thin sliver of light from the window where the curtains on the wall don't meet in the middle. I use that light to guide me into the room and next to the bed where a chair is waiting. As I lower myself onto it, I do what I always do: watch his chest rise and fall with rattling breaths. He's still breathing which means he hasn't yet lost the battle. He will. It's only a matter of time now. _

_My father is half the size he was when he was first admitted. He looks so frail, weak. The effects of the cancer making itself known in his sunken cheeks and protruding ribcage. What were once broad, strong shoulders that held me up after every little league game, win or lose, were now limp and useless. It's not fair. A man in perfect health, a man who never used drugs or smoked cigarettes does not end up with lung cancer. But he did. _

"_Lucas," he rasps before one of his coughing fits start. I wait it out, jaw clenched, because I know with every cough comes fresh pain. Finally, he asks, "W-why?"_

_He doesn't have to elaborate; I know what he's asking. "Dad, I already told you. I'm not going to stop coming. You are _not_ going to do this alone."_

_His head rolls to the side in defeat. He doesn't want me to see him like this—he said so a few weeks earlier. It's not how he wants to be remembered. But I'd be damned if I let my own father die alone if only to spare my feelings. It's not what he deserves. My dad and I have been a team for most of my twenty-five years. He taught me to take care of things and the people around me. He taught me to put on a brave face when I would rather lock myself away from the world and deal with things on my own. But most of all, he taught me that family is important and should always come first. _

"_Stubborn fool," he whispers, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. _

"_You're one to talk," I retort with a small smile of my own. _

_It's an inside joke but not a funny one. Once the cancer was diagnosed, it seemed to spread like wildfire and eventually made its way into his bones. He was only given a few months to live after that to which he opted to forgo any more chemo. I thought he was a fool, a stubborn fool, for wanting to give up so soon, and I told him that. His response was that he'll die anyway, so why not do it without a bunch of chemicals being unnecessarily pumped into his body._

"_You"—he takes a deep, rattling breath—"make me so proud, Son."_

_Tears prick the backs of my eyes, but I won't cry in front of him. I blink rapidly before saying, "I know that."_

_His chest heaves with rapid breaths, this conversation clearly taking its toll on him. "I hope…I hope I was enough. For you and Lizzie."_

_I take his hand in mine as if we were about to arm wrestle. His grip surprises me, and for a second, I think he actually wants to arm wrestle like old times. I lean forward and say, "More than enough."_

_He nods imperceptibly, his grip loosens. As I watch his eyes slowly close, I'm hit with the dreadful feeling that this was the last conversation I'll ever have with my father. I don't cry. I don't speak. I don't call for help. It's not like in the movies where people come rushing in to try and save his life. My father didn't want that. I take his hand that's still in mine and bring it to my lips, kissing his knuckles softly. Taking a deep breath, I stand and leave his room for the last time…_

My eyes popped open, and I slowly pushed myself into a seated position. The apartment was still dark, and the streets outside were quiet. I checked the clock on my nightstand—it was four in the morning. Every year the same thing happened. The same damn memory resurfaced. It was like my subconscious didn't want me to forget; I couldn't even if I tried. My mood soured as those images of my father, lying there cancer-riddled and helpless, became clearer and clearer. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, willing the memories to stay at bay.

Frustrated, I whipped the blankets back and climbed out of bed. My reflection in the bathroom mirror was jarring, and for a second, I didn't recognize the man staring back at me. There were days worth of dark, coarse growth on my face, but I didn't care. Let the outside of me reflect what I felt inside. The bags under my eyes were deep gray in color and drooping slightly—unflattering for a man of only forty.

I brushed my teeth and washed my face. Grabbing the towel hanging on the rack near the shower, I spotted Lorelai's bottle of body cream. An image emerged, but this time, it was not one of my father. It was of Lorelai spreading that cream on various places of her naked body and topping said places with the sprinkles that came with it. Surprisingly, there wasn't a lot of arm-twisting involved in getting me to lick every one of those sprinkles off of her. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth at the thought. I had no idea who Jessica Simpson was, but I found a new appreciation for edible beauty products that night.

After pulling on a pair of sweats and my Red Sox World Series Champions hooded sweatshirt Lorelai gave me for my birthday, I filled a tea kettle with water before placing it on the burner. As I stood there, I thought about Lorelai again and our conversation the day before. There was something about her presence that seemed to calm me after my blowup over Mrs. Thompson and the boat. Confiding in her felt good, but it wasn't easy. Not because I didn't trust her, but because I didn't trust myself. I always worried about what would happen if I cracked that part of me open. Would I cry? Would I lash out? It was a relief when neither of those things happened.

The tea kettle whistled, so I poured the hot water into my waiting mug. I let the teabag steep as I put on my running shoes, lacing them up tightly. Ten minutes later I was standing in front of the diner, stretching my legs and twisting my torso from side to side in an effort to warm up my muscles. It had been weeks since I went for a run, and today felt like the perfect day to hit the pavement for a few hours. I turned my baseball cap around—brim facing forward for once—and pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over it before heading down the street.

BEEP

"Hey, hon, it's me. I was just checking on you. I know you're doing your solo thing today, but if you need someone to talk to, I'm here. I took the day off, so call me when you can, but only if you want to. Okay? Bye."

BEEP

After replaying Lorelai's message—twice—I decided to give her a call. To my surprise, she didn't answer. I left a brief message and set the phone down on the desk. As I stared at the floor, I realized how much I wanted her to answer and how much I wanted to talk to her. That's never happened before. Disappearing and shutting out the world was how I always handled this day. I didn't have to answer to anyone—not that I ever did. People knew to keep their distance, and they gave me a pass on my curmudgeon attitude even though they had not a single clue as to why.

The run had helped to clear my head. I no longer felt that need to disappear and cut off all communication. Maybe fifteen years was the statute of limitations on grief. Or maybe it was the woman in my life whom I cared for so deeply that, despite her endless list of ways to annoy me, kept me grounded when I needed to be. When I got back from my run, I showered and was finally exhausted enough to get some sleep. I slept through breakfast, lunch, and Lorelai's phone call.

The phone rang, and I couldn't decide if I should let it roll over to the answering machine so that I could screen the call or man up and answer it. I went with the latter. "Hello?"

"Hey, I'm sorry I missed your call. Even though, technically, you missed mine first, so I win! Get it? Because phone tag, and I tagged you first, and anyway. How are you? You're not _On the Road-_ing it, so I'm taking that as a good sign." She sounded breathless and was babbling which meant something was going on.

Suddenly it hit me that maybe this was all too much for her to handle: being with a man who liked to be alone once a year to grieve his dead father. She probably thought I was a basket case. "I went for a run and then slept half the day." I waited a beat before I asked, "Why did you take the day off? I didn't—"

"It was no big deal, Luke," she interrupted gently. "Sookie and I had…stuff to do anyway, and I have Miss Patty's party tonight. Are you okay? Do you want some company?"

I did. I wanted her company more than anything right now, but that part of me that was used to shutting out everyone he loved spoke first. "No, I'm okay. I have to go over the ledger for the diner and pay a few bills."

"Okay."

We were both quiet, clearly neither one of us wanting to hang up yet. "So, what were you and Sookie up to earlier?"

"Oh, um, she came over and helped me clean out the house. You should see my yard, there's junk everywhere. On second thought, you shouldn't see it because it would probably give you a stroke. I called one of those charities to come out and pick up everything that's salvageable, but they won't be here until tomorrow, so it'll look like an eyesore for another day."

We talked for a few more minutes. I was glad to hear that Sookie would accompany Lorelai to Miss Patty's party since her grouchy boyfriend refused to socialize. After hanging up, I grabbed my ledger and attempted to do what I said I was going to do. I needed the distraction, but I couldn't make myself concentrate. Food was what I needed, so I pulled out of the fridge all of the fixings for a turkey sandwich and a small container of carrot sticks. It helped. I finished my work a few hours later—I decided to go ahead and place a supply order as well—and for the first time all day, I felt a real since of peace about things.

As it turns out, that peace was only temporary. Sitting on Lorelai's porch waiting for her to return home from Miss Patty's party later that night, I thought about our argument a few hours earlier. It wasn't what she did that made me angry. It was realizing that I can't always push things aside and refuse to deal with them. Out of sight, out of mind only made things worse. It was like having a gaping wound that needed stitches, but because of a fear of needles, you settle for only a bandage instead, and the wound never properly heals. Lorelai was the stitches.

I looked up as her Jeep slowly crept down the driveway. She hopped out as I stood up, and to my relief, she smiled at the sight of me. "Hey. I thought you were going home."

Shrugging, I said, "I did, but…"

She nodded in understanding and led the way inside the house. We removed our coats in the foyer, and without speaking, Lorelai wrapped her arms tightly around my neck. It was unexpected but exactly what I needed. _She _was what I needed.

"Is there something in your pocket or are you happy to see me?" she mumbled into my neck.

I chuckled softly before pulling out her bottle of edible body cream. "Both. You left this at my place."

"First my glasses and now my lotion?" A slow, wicked grin spread across her face. She fished her glasses out of the pocket of her coat and perched them on the tip of her nose. "What do you say we combine the two?"

My eyebrows shot up. "You mean…?"

She nodded and leaned in, pressing her lips to mine. When she pulled back, she whispered in that low, husky voice that drove me crazy, "Librarian Lorelai à la mode."

A shiver of arousal coursed through me as I thought, _Yep. She is definitely what I needed._

Later that night, as we lay sated and tangled in her sheets, Lorelai said, "Tell me something about your dad."

Her back was to my front which made it feel easier to open up. I brushed her hair off of her bare shoulder and kissed the exposed skin. Finally I said, "Before he lived here and before he opened the hardware store, my dad had a job as a coal miner. He and my mom lived in Pennsylvania for about five years before she got pregnant with me. He hated coal mining, but it paid good, and they needed the money. My Uncle Louie lived here and eventually convinced my mom and dad to drive up and look at some property. They fell in love with the place, set up shop, and the rest is history."

"Hmm," she hummed, "I never pictured you living in an actual house before. I've only known you as the diner owner with the tiny apartment."

"There was a house, not a whole lot to it. It's gone now. I sold it after he died so that I could renovate the hardware store."

"I'm sure that wasn't easy."

"No, but I did what I had to do. Life has to move on even after people are gone. It may have taken me fifteen years to really accept that, but I have."

Lorelai turned over to face me. "What do you want to do about the boat? I can keep it at the inn so you don't have to see it until you're ready."

"I'm fine with it being here until I decide what to do with it." Pushing a stray hair behind her ear, I asked, "Are you sure you don't mind storing it? It could be a while before I'm ready to deal with it."

"Are you kidding? All the trouble that thing has caused, it's staying put." She smiled before leaning in and kissing me softly.

An enormous weight lifted off of me as she turned back over and pressed the length of her spine against my chest. I couldn't help but hold her a little bit tighter that night as we both drifted off and the memories of the last few days subsided.


	11. You Made Me An Ice Rink

Old habits die hard—and I'm not referring to the Mick Jagger song. There's an area of the brain where many habits are formed: that is why habits can be so difficult to break. Even after years, the right trigger will set a broken habit pattern into motion whether you want it to or not. The trigger in this scenario was knowing that Christopher was in pain over the loss of his father.

I don't know why I have that urge to constantly swoop in and try to save the day when it comes to Chris. We've been through a lot—in our youth as well as our attempt as adults to try and be co-parents to Rory. I usually came out on top with him lagging behind, no sense of responsibility because things tended to work out for him. Maybe that was it. Maybe I felt responsible for him in some maternal way like I would for Rory if she were ever in trouble. Although I wouldn't necessarily use tequila to comfort her. She's more of an ice cream sundae kind of girl.

This was the second time in a few months that an interaction with Christopher had left me feeling a pang of guilt in my chest. But I don't ever feel guilty at the time. Only afterward. Kind of like when you eat an entire cake or pie by yourself. It seems like a good idea in the moment because you get this sort of sugar rush and you're happy, but when you're finished, you're left feeling gross and shameful.

That's how I felt as I peeled my eyes open and an unfamiliar room stared back at me. The gross part was due to the after effects of the tequila. The shame, well, that was from spending the night somewhere that wasn't my—or my current boyfriend's—house.

"Oh, god," I groaned as I sat up. My throat was dry, head pounding already. Taking stock of my surroundings, I noticed that I was in a living room on a large, tan couch with a fleece throw blanket covering me. There were paintings on the wall and a massive marble mantlepiece that took up an entire side of the room. Suddenly, the events from the night before started to come to focus: awkwardly giving Francine my condolences, a shot of tequila, Christopher lighting a fire here in the living room where we joked and talked all night, more tequila. It was only supposed to be one ceremonious shot, pour one for my homies. But the more we drank, the more Chris opened up about everything that had been bothering him when it came to his father and a little bit about his relationship with Rory. It was cathartic for him, I could tell. At some point I must have dozed off, and he left me on the couch to sleep off the booze.

I leaned over the side of the couch to fish my phone out of my purse so I could check the time—it was after five in the morning. Shit. Slowly, quietly I stood and gathered my coat, purse, and shoes. For a moment, I considered leaving a note for Christopher but decided against it. No explanation for my departure was needed when I shouldn't have been there in the first place. The cold January air hit me, and I had to bite the side of my cheek to keep from gagging as I climbed into my Jeep.

Halfway back to Stars Hollow, I remembered telling Michel I'd take over maid duties that morning since the snow the past few days wreaked havoc on most of my employees' ability to make it to work. The inn was practically empty anyway due to all the cancelations, so it wasn't like it was necessary to be fully staffed in the first place. Even with the town's Revolutionary War reenactment taking place that afternoon, I couldn't persuade people to keep their reservations.

When I got home, I had just enough time to eat a Pop-tart, fix some mediocre coffee, and take a quick shower, hoping like hell I could scrub away the smell of tequila I felt radiating out of my pores. To my relief, there were no messages on the machine from Luke; he wasn't one to keep tabs on me which went both ways. I haven't even worked out what I would say to him when he asked, _if _he asked what I did last night. I decided that if it came up naturally I'd deal with it then. For now, I had to put a pin in it and get my ass to work.

XXX

Is it wrong to lie about something if the lie being withheld will hurt the person to whom you're lying to? You know nothing happened, less than nothing happened, but there's no way to prove your innocence. Essentially, you're protecting this person you've come to love and this fragile, new, wonderful relationship the two of you had only started to build.

Rory's words to me earlier that morning, _He didn't need to know. It's better that he doesn't know_, played on a loop inside my head as I stared down from my bedroom window at the ice rink in my front yard. Luke _did_ need to know, but I had lied twice to him already in one day and that doesn't bode well when trying to plead your case.

At the time I thought that having Rory with me at the diner when I filled Luke in on my night would help make light of the situation, or in the very least, Luke's reaction wouldn't be too over the top out of respect for my daughter. But now I saw it as cowardice. Sitting there while Rory lied straight to Luke's face and then me, following suit. _It's better that he doesn't know._ Maybe it was. What you don't know can't hurt you, and Luke was the last person on earth I wanted to hurt.

A knock on my bedroom door startled me, and I turned to see Luke standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry, I thought you heard me coming up the stairs."

With my hand on my chest, I chuckled. "No, I didn't."

"Why didn't you tell me your roof was leaking? I could have fixed that today instead of setting up that thing out there."

God, I didn't deserve him sometimes. "Honestly, I had forgotten about it. With all the snow and the drama at the inn and…everything. It slipped my mind." I walked over and wrapped my arms around his neck. "And that _thing _out there is worth a bucket of water in my kitchen."

Luke smiled at me, the kind of smile that makes you feel like you're the only other person in the world, and it was right then that I knew that I couldn't tell him about the night before. This wasn't a lunch in a public place, during the day, with both of our kids present. This was two people with a history who got drunk together with no one else around. There was no way Luke wouldn't read too much into what happened no matter how I told the story.

He kissed me and asked softly, "How's your head?"

"It's down to a dull ache, so I think I'll be fine."

Luke nodded slowly as he said, "Good." For a moment, I thought I was busted. Somehow he found out the truth and was testing me; there was no way I would pass this time. But then he said, "How about grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for dinner?"

My stomach growled hungrily at the thought, and I perked up. "Ooh, the gourmet ones? With the three different cheeses, heirloom tomatoes, and pepper jelly?"

Luke makes these _amazing _grilled cheese sandwiches. I balked at the mention of that for dinner a few weeks ago thinking it was just your average cheese on bread. Boy, was I wrong. Who knew such a simple concept could be twisted into something so delicious and filling. The possibilities seemed endless, and Luke has been on board for most of my suggestions so far. Except one. Mac and cheese. It's too much work for a sandwich, he said, because he refuses to buy the boxed macaroni and cheese—everything with Luke is made from scratch.

He chuckled softly. "How about _two _cheeses, and I'll throw on some bacon because that's all I have at home."

"Deal."

He kissed me goodbye and said that he would be back in an hour or so—he would stop at the hardware store and pick up a tarp for my roof if he couldn't find his. I used the time alone to clean up the house a bit; remnants of the dress I made for Lulu—or Kirk as it turned out—were still strewn about the living room. Basically anything to distract me from the guilty knot in my chest was welcome. I knew that in a few days I would be fine and will have moved on to something else more stressful or thought consuming. But, for now, I needed to get through the rest of this day.

An hour, and a hot bath, later Luke was back. The tarp was tarped and the grilled cheeses were grilled. Instead of wine, I opted for one of Rory's cane sodas which earned me a sideways look from Luke. As much as I loved cookies, candy, and ice cream, I wasn't big on sugary drinks like I used to be, and he knew that. But I felt depleted of energy from this exhausting day, so why not? Plus, the idea of consuming any alcohol made my stomach churn.

"Did I tell you about Kirk?" I asked as I poured the soda into a glass filled with ice cubes.

Luke stood at the stove stirring a pot filled with creamy tomato soup—home made, of course. "Does it have anything to do with him dressed as the town whore?"

"Ah, so you do pay attention to the things going on around you," I said, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind. I pressed my forehead gently into the center of his back. Breathing him in, a sense of calm overcame me for the first time that day.

Luke shrugged nonchalantly. "You hear things."

I moved around to his side, leaning against the counter. "Well I had front row tickets, and it was just as disturbing as it sounds." I eyed the giant sandwiches resting on a plate at the back of the stove. "How much longer?"

He said it would be another minute or so, so I took my soda and wandered into the living room to see what was on t.v. Nothing good was on, per usual for a Saturday night, so I perused the DVD's I had laid out. As I sat trying to decide on a movie, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I was running on only a few hours of sleep, fumes by that point. Greedily, I gulped down half my drink hoping like hell for a little bit more battery life so that I could enjoy the rest of my evening with Luke.

I stood and shuffled back toward the kitchen. "Your minute is up! Can we—" The kitchen was empty, but the back door was open. I was torn between starting on my sandwich or going in search of Luke. Begrudgingly, I went with the latter.

"Luke?" I called out into the darkness before flipping the porch light on. Everything was quiet and still. Before I turned to go back inside, I heard footsteps in the grass near the big tree in my backyard. It was freezing, and I was only wearing a thin long-sleeved shirt with flannel pajama bottoms, but I walked over and peeked over the porch railing. "Luke?"

"What are you doing? It's freezing out here," said Luke, taking the porch steps two at a time. He had his plaid shirt balled up in one hand and an empty skillet in the other.

"Do I even wanna know?" I asked as I led the way back inside. In the full light of the kitchen I could see that Luke's jeans were covered in what looked like some kind of oil. "What did you do?"

Luke sighed. "I wanted to dump the grease out of the skillet so your house doesn't smell, and I tripped on something out there and spilled half of it on me. Lucky for me it wasn't hot."

I smiled sympathetically at him. "Poor thing."

"Yeah," he exhaled. "You mind if I…?" He gestured to his jeans that he was still wearing.

"Lose the pants, Burger Boy, and I'll see if I can salvage them."

Luke sat down and pulled off his jeans. Suddenly, I was aware of how normal and domestic this all felt. Luke in his boxer briefs and a t-shirt at the table while I went upstairs and grabbed a pair of his sweatpants that he had left here. When I came back down, he had our sandwiches plated and our bowls filled with soup.

"Mmm," I moaned after taking my first bite of gooey, cheesy goodness.

Luke's eyebrows shot up, a smile playing on his lips. "That good, huh?"

I nodded eagerly as I took another bite. "Seriously, babe, why don't you make these at the diner? They'd be a hit." I dipped a chunk of sandwich into my soup bowl before popping into my mouth.

He shot me a pointed look. "Because then it loses its value."

I gave him a sideways look, but then it clicked. Luke liked to make _me_ certain dishes that no one else got to eat, and he knew that if he served said dishes at the diner, they would no longer be _ours._ Dinners like tonight were special to Luke. And to me.

_Things would be okay,_ I told myself as we finished dinner and cleaned up the aftermath. I made a pact with myself that there would be no more lies or keeping things from Luke. I'll do nothing but good deeds to earn points from the universe. The only thing I asked in return was that what happened in Hartford, stayed in Hartford. 

* * *

**A/N:** We're now at the midpoint of the season, so I'll be taking a break from this series for a short while. Don't worry, I will NOT leave it unfinished. Never have, never will. Keeping within the confines of the season 5 storylines has been a challenge, which I love, but it's making me crave writing my own version of events. That being said, I do have two other stories—check my bio for updates—that I'm writing, and I want them to be at least 80% finished before uploading. Thanks to everyone who is still following along & choosing to read my stories; it means more than you'll ever know :)


	12. You Never Cease To Amaze Me

"Guess who's getting married," announced Lorelai upon entering the diner. She removed her long coat and draped it on the stool next to the one she had already claimed.

I was standing behind the counter organizing my tickets for the night. Without looking up, I asked, "Who?"

"My parents!"

My eyes shot up. "You're kidding. Aren't they still married? I thought it was just a separation."

"They _are_ still married, so technically it's a vow renewal, but when it comes to my parents, one can expect them to go all out like they're Brad and Jen. I already know they're going to have a twenty-piece band, and they've booked one of the most expensive rooms at the Windsor Club which, by the way, costs about half the amount I paid for my car."

I was no expert on marriage or long-term relationships in general. My mother died when I was too young to have been able to witness a happy, healthy marriage between her and my dad. Bud and Maisy were the closest thing I had to what I felt a marriage or partnership should look like. And, personally, I've only seen the Gilmores together one time, and even then, they were in disagreement over something. Was it Richard's early retirement? So their marriage wasn't exactly what I would call picturesque.

Regardless, I knew for a fact that Lorelai had enjoyed her one-on-one time with her parents over the last four or five months. She would never admit that, but it was obvious. I'd seen enough Friday-night-dinner aftermaths over the last five years to know that things were a lot more calm with the Gilmores no longer teamed up, combining their forces to invoke whatever propaganda was on the agenda at the time. Lorelai's demeanor over the news of her parents vow renewal—slumped over the counter with her chin propped on her palm—proved my point.

"Oh, and the best part," she continued, "is that I was asked to be the Maid of Honor. Except I wasn't asked, I was told I had the part because my mother knew better than to leave it up to me."

"Maybe it won't be so bad. It's one evening, and when it's all over, I'll be here to comfort you with pie and coffee." To prove my point, I plated her a slice of apple pie and filled a mug with coffee, sliding both in front of her in one smooth motion.

Instead of her usual grateful smile, Lorelai stared back at me as if I might have poisoned both offerings. "I'm sorry, was the fact that you're my date to this shindig not implied?"

I blinked a few times, processing her question. It was no secret that her parents intimidated me. As hard as I tried not to let them, they niggled their way into the most vulnerable areas of my life. Like sharks smelling a drop of blood from miles away. I was ready to plead my case, to assure her that it would probably be best if I didn't attend. But then, as if she could read the thoughts fluttering around in my head, she said three little words that never failed to turn me into putty.

"Please? For me?"

Later that night, after the diner was closed down and the floors were swept, I drove over to Lorelai's place. We had spent pretty much every night together for the past two weeks. Twice a week when I had early deliveries, Lorelai stayed at my place, but other than that, we spent the night at hers. It wasn't like with Nicole or even Rachel—how I would tend to avoid them when I felt like the walls were closing in on me. With Lorelai, it felt right. It always felt right.

I climbed up the porch steps and rapped lightly on the front door before pushing it open. The house was dark except, I noticed when I pulled up, the lamp on in her bedroom. After hanging my coat in the foyer, I made my way upstairs. Lorelai was in bed reading with her glasses perched on her nose. She was wearing my old Stars Hollow High sweatshirt that she snagged at some point from my apartment. It was so worn with its frayed collar and tiny holes around the wrist, but she loved it. It was huge on her, the length stopping at her upper-thigh. She also wore these knee-high fuzzy socks that, I assumed, were supposed to try and make up the difference.

She dog-eared the page she was on and placed the book on her nightstand. "Oh, thank god. This book is giving me the creeps."

Picking it up, I read the cover out loud. "_Darkly Dreaming Dexter._"

"Don't let the title fool you. It's about a serial killer named Dexter who only kills bad people. Ironic, right? But he's also very charming and respected at his job, so you find yourself actually rooting for the guy. The second one comes out in March, so I wanted to finish this one before then."

I hummed my acknowledgement and placed the book back down. "Do you mind if I shower real quick?"

"Not at all."

Lorelai stood, kissing me quickly on the lips, and led the way to the bathroom. Her long legs visible from the hem of my sweatshirt were a sight for sore eyes. She reached up into the cabinet above the toilet—the sweatshirt rising to display the lacy boy-shirt underwear I've come to appreciate—and pulled out a bar of soap wrapped in a thick white and mint green paper. She held it out to me.

"I picked you up some man soap."

I rolled my eyes before whipping both my plaid and t-shirt off. "And what exactly is man soap?"

She shrugged, unwrapping the soap and placing the discarded paper in the small trash can under the sink. "I don't know. Soap that smells manly?"

"What, does it smell like beer and dirt?" I pulled off my jeans and stood there, one layer away from being completely naked. In the bright light of her bathroom, it felt too much like I was on display.

"No. More like"—Lorelai brought the bar to her nose and inhaled deeply—"a woodsy, citrusy smell. Now you don't have to smell like a fruity flower every time you shower here."

"No, because a fruity piece of wood is much better," I said, wryly, earning a playful swat on the butt as Lorelai brushed past me and out of the bathroom. At some point she came back in and placed a set of pajamas I kept here along with a clean pair of boxers on the closed lid of the toilet.

Five minutes later I slid into bed next to her. She scooted until her back was flush against my front and pulled my arm to drape over the dip in her waist. On most nights, we were either exhausted from work, or work combined with sex, so we each took to our sides of the bed before falling asleep. However, there were the occasional nights when Lorelai needed that extra contact. When something was clearly bothering her, but she didn't want to discuss it. The last time she was like that was about two weeks ago; the night of the day I set up that ice rink in her front yard. Tonight felt like one of those nights.

Usually I remained quiet, stoic, as if my silence and presence were all she needed to get through whatever was on her mind. Tonight, though, I knew what she was thinking about. "What are your plans for tomorrow? I was thinking of making a trip to Woodbury."

I could feel her inhale deeply and sigh. "I have to go to my parents' house and pick out my Maid of Honor dress, because we didn't have time tonight. That'll be about half the day."

"Okay," I said softly. "How about we do an early dinner? Wherever you want to go."

Without missing a beat, Lorelai turned onto her back and looked up at me. "It's Italian Night at Al's tomorrow."

Cringing inwardly, I forced myself to nod my false approval. It was a rare instance when I actually ate food from the restaurants in this town. Being with Lorelai, unfortunately, has forced me to partake in the occasional pizza and Chinese food nights. I tried to cook for her as often as I could—to not only broaden her food horizon but to prove to her that it could be just as good.

I leaned down and softly kissed her lips. "It's a date." 

* * *

The next morning I drove out to Woodbury. It was a town much like Stars Hollow without having to be in Stars Hollow. And it was an added bonus that their Town Selectman, Hank, and Taylor were always at odds. Woodbury had what Stars Hollow didn't, though. A hardware store. When I shut down my dad's hardware business in 1992, people were a bit conflicted. For one thing, it had been open for nearly twenty years by that point; it was a town staple. As for the second, it was the only hardware store for ten miles. But despite that, and maybe it was out of respect for me or my dad's legacy, no one thought to open a new store.

So, a few times a month, I would make the drive to Claude Adams's store in Woodbury. It was much larger than what's now my diner, but it still had that local charm. It pained me to think that it wouldn't be much longer before they opened a new big-box store for the sole purpose of putting small-time folks like Claude out of business. I pulled into the parking lot off of Main Street and cut the engine.

Looking at the front of the store, you could see what was once a simple saltbox house and where they extended it to make room for the store. Claude and his wife Linda lived on the second story. I entered the store and that familiar smell hit me, like it always did. It was one of those smells that brought me back to my childhood and all the hours I spent working in my dad's store. It was the smell of metal and wood and nostalgia for a simpler time.

Since I planned on starting work on my boat, I wanted to come here first and get what I could before having to resort to catalogs. Pickings were going to be slim—as far as boat supplies—but I wanted to at least try and shop local. The owner's son Sam greeted me as I entered the store, and we chatted briefly about the upcoming baseball season and also about a few of the local stores that had recently shut down.

"Jam Sandwich got shut down, too. That was the music store over on Pomperaug Avenue? Anyway, they ended up having a liquidation sale to get rid of what they could," said Sam as we walked to the back of the store.

"Wow, I can't imagine what that felt like." I grabbed an electric sander and a pack of sandpaper.

"Dad wanted to do what he could, you know, to help 'em out, so he went over there and bought a couple of TV's and some vintage record players to try and sell here."

"TV's and record players?" I asked as if I didn't hear him correctly.

Sam chuckled softly. "I know. Selling television sets at a hardware store is like selling tools at a diner."

"Hey," I said in mock defense, "I don't sell them, they're there for decoration."

Another customer needed Sam's attention so he left me to mull over my choice of either a bevel-edged chisel or a mortise one. As I stood there, I thought back to the conversation Lorelai and I had almost a week ago about her suggesting I put a television in the bedroom. It wouldn't be a terrible idea, I thought to myself, to surprise her with one.

It was a little after six when we walked into Al's that night. For a Saturday, it was awfully dead which in retrospect should have been a red flag. Lorelai looked happy, though, despite spending half the day with her mother. She was dressed in my favorite little black dress—little being the operative word—despite the cold, February weather. We were shown to a booth made of a buttery, orange leather and pictures of various cooking instruments framed on the wall.

"Is that the _Rocky_ theme playing?" I asked as the hostess put down two menus on the table.

Lorelai nodded as if it made perfect sense. "He _was_ the Italian Stallion, hence Italian Night."

I ordered her a glass of red wine and a beer for myself which was delivered to the table with a basket of breadsticks. Lorelai filled me in on what had happened between Sookie and Jackson a few days ago and how crazy the whole ordeal made Michel. By the time she finished, our food had arrived. Chicken parmesan for her and what was supposed to be manicotti for me.

"Um, excuse me," I said to the waiter. "What is this? I ordered the manicotti."

"It is. Al was trying something new."

_Trying something new?_ I thought but responded with, "Oh."

"Can I have more wine, please?" asked Lorelai, holding up her glass.

The waiter left to grab the bottle of wine as I looked down at my plate of three blue squares. Did they not understand that the Italian word for manicotti was little sleeve, as in a _sleeve_ of pasta, not a sheet? I picked up my fork and scooped up a bite, hoping it tasted better than it looked. It was definitely pasta and what tasted like a ricotta cheese mixture on the inside, but getting past that weird blue color proved to be a challenge.

"How was your trip to Woodbury? Oh, I probably shouldn't say that too loud, or it might get back to Taylor," said Lorelai with a chuckle as she dug into her chicken parm.

"It was good. I got a couple of things I needed to get started on the boat." I stacked two of the mystery pasta squares on top of each other to make it look like I had eaten more than just the one. Lorelai never noticed.

When we left—I had to talk her out of ordering the tiramisu because god knows what color that might've been—we walked hand-in-hand to Weston's. I noticed that the less she talked about the vow renewal, the more anxious I became about attending it. Of course I wanted to be there for her, but at the same time, would they even notice if I was a no-show? I decided I would casually bring it up later and see if she still felt like my presence was needed.

The crowd at Weston's was larger than Al's, which now I understood why. Although dinner itself was a little iffy, Lorelai's company always made up for it. As we stood in line, I leaned in without thinking and kissed her softly on the lips. The shock at my PDA was evident on her face, but I couldn't help it. I kissed her again.

She smiled at me; the kind of smile that lights up her eyes. "What was that for?"

I leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Olive juice."

That was our out-in-public code phrase, because if you mouthed it, it looked like you were saying "I love you." It was Lorelai's idea. She had seen it in a movie and thought it was perfect for two people like us who felt love deeply but had a hard time using the actual words. I'm an action man, always have been. Words were not my strong suit especially when trying to express to someone how I felt.

But there was a moment a few weeks ago when Lorelai was sprawled across my chest—loose-limbed and satiated—and something inside me had to make sure she knew how I felt about her. I felt the words, on the tip of my tongue, for months now, but I held back because I didn't want to scare her off. Or maybe I was the one who was scared. It's an odd feeling to love someone so much but at the same time be terrified of what it could feel like if that love was ripped away, to no longer have it. In my mind, if I never said it then no one could get hurt. But that night, my wariness gave way as I tipped up her chin and asked, "Do you know that I love you?" A slow smile bloomed across her face. A smile that told me she knew but was waiting to see if I would ever tell her. "Yes, I do," she answered softly, and after a beat of silence, "Do you know that I love you?" It was my turn to smile. A part of me did know, and I told her that, but there's a difference between feeling it and actually hearing it.

Now, standing in the middle of the town bakery, Lorelai's blue eyes darkened as she gripped the lapels of my leather coat. "Let's get outta here," she whispered, a sly grin on her face.

Relieved, and a little turned on, I said, "By all means." 

* * *

**A/N:** The rough patch is coming, so I wanted to get in as much sweetness as I could. There are many different opinions/theories—I even wrote a one-shot with a different take than this one—on when the L's said the phrase we all wanted to hear. Personally, I think it happened before the breakup for the simple fact that Lorelai was starting to see herself getting married, and also, she was wanting Luke to partake in family pictures at the vow renewal. IMO, if you weren't in love with someone—or have not told them—then why would you want those things? Ahh, I'm rambling now. As always, thanks for reading, and thanks for being patient as I work on all these stories I have going on :)


	13. You & Me, We're Done

**A/N:** Since episodes 5.13 & 5.14 bleed into one another, I figured getting Lorelai's POV after the confrontation would be okay, because chapter 14 will be how Luke deals with the fallout. Plus, the L's are pretty much together the entire episode, so there wasn't a lot of "missing scene" options—I decided to dive into the drama at the end instead. 

* * *

My heart pounded loudly in my ears. I was sure everyone could hear it as I walked past, head down, making my way toward the front entrance of the club. The young attendant I bumped into and told I needed a cab was nowhere to be found, so I stood in the glass foyer hoping like hell no one came looking for me. As the adrenaline-fueled anger slowly dissipated, I was hit with a wave of complete and utter sadness. How could my own mother do this to me? How could Christopher think it was okay to show up and try to sabotage what Luke and I had because Emily told him to? How could Luke just leave me here?

The cab pulled up, and I slid in, giving him my address as he pulled away from the scene of the crime. The radio was on low which was what I needed in order to sort through the mess in my head. My alcohol-induced brain would only allow me to replay snippets of our night. I was far from drunk but still coming down from my anger high which made for a weird combination. Resting my head against the backseat of the cab, I closed my eyes as my mind drifted back to how happy we were before the ceremony. Before everything went horribly wrong.

"_Can't I dress like your maid? It'll be whimsical, and I can wear flats," I said, half-kidding. _

_Walking down the aisle barefoot in front of all those people sounded better than sporting the three-inch heels Emily had picked out. The last thing I needed was my nerves getting the best of me, causing me to fall on my face. _

_My mother, of course, was not in a joking mood. "Go give the necklaces back to your father."_

_Rolling my eyes as I closed the door behind me, I took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. The air outside of that room—I guess technically it was a suite—felt lighter, more breathable. Leave it to Emily to make what should be a happy occasion for her into a suffocating moment for me. Just when I felt the two of us were having a real mother/daughter moment, she snatched it back. And she wonders why I don't share more with her or why our relationship wasn't like mine and Rory's. _

_Instead of taking a right, which would have brought me to the side entrance of the main hall where the ceremony was taking place, I took a left. Around the corner, the hall opened out onto the backside of the room where I could see all of the chairs lined up facing toward the front of the aisle which was lined with rose petals. Not only did I want to bide as much time away from my mother as possible, but I also wanted to get a practice walk in as well. _

_Leading down to the floor, unlit candles in tall votives lined the two sets of stairs that were separated by a landing. Vines with fresh white roses intertwined with the metal railings along the stairs and balcony. With the diamond necklaces secured in my coat pocket, I brought my hands together in a fist as I held an imaginary bouquet of flowers in front of me. The descent to the floor wasn't as bad as I thought, but there was still a nervous flutter in my belly. Like, no matter what I did, something unexpected and out of my control was going to happen. _

_The room was beautifully set up. A little simple and classic for my parents' tastes, but with the short amount of time they had to throw this thing together, it worked. There were four violinists setting up on a platform covered by a white cloth, and off to the side, I noticed Luke taking it all in. It made me think of Rory's high school graduation when he and Jackson were walking around Chilton in awe and full of curiosity on how expensive the building was to maintain. _

_I walked up and looped my arm with his; the warmth and comfort of his body instantly calming me. "What're you thinking about? The amount of trees that had to die just to decorate this one room?"_

_He startled at the sound of my voice but smiled when he saw it was me. "I've been trying to keep a healthy distance between me and your cousin Marilyn. Apparently she's saving me a seat next to her for the ceremony."_

_I waved off his worries. "She's harmless. Besides, a little shameless flirting never hurt anybody."_

_He shot me a pointed look before taking in my appearance. "You're not dressed yet? Your mother's gonna kill you."_

_I sighed. "I needed some air. Plus, I have to bring these necklaces back to my father. Have you seen him?"_

"_Last I saw him he was in the lobby meeting up with the officiator." Luke studied my face for a second. "How are you holding up? I know this hasn't been the smoothest week for you."_

_He was right. All of this wedding planning for my parents had felt so _Twilight Zone_-y. Even the night before at my mother's make-shift bachelorette party. It was so odd seeing her sit there whooping it up with the town, my town. Our worlds were not meant to commingle, and when they did, it knocked me out of kilter. But, as I tried to see it, I was hopefully banking some good-deed points with the universe to be used a later time. _

_I blew out my cheeks. "I'm a little nervous, I guess. It's been a long time since I was in a room with most of these people. Some of them haven't seen me in twenty years, so god knows what theories they've cooked up about the girl that left home at seventeen with a one-year-old and a dream."_

"_I doubt anyone will be thinking about that. Normally, people focus on the bride and groom at a wedding, not the Maid of Honor who got pregnant two decades ago."_

"_Trust me, these elitists love their drama and gossip. Man, I can't wait to get a drink."_

_Luke wrapped both arms around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. "If you get nervous or anxious, just focus on me. I won't take my eyes off of you."_

"_But you just said people focus on the bride and groom," I said, grinning. Luke shushed me before pressing his lips to mine. And like a cliché scene in a romantic comedy, the violinists started to play a few practice chords as I deepened the kiss. _

_When my mother asked if I ever wanted to be married, my answer was the truth. Being with Luke showed me that I was capable of having a healthy relationship in terms of us starting out without any drama attached. There was no parent/teacher scandal like with Max or relationship based on lies and deceit, like what I had with Jason. _

_Sometimes it was hard to imagine someone as fiercely independent as myself partnering up with someone else for life. But Luke was just as independent as I was, if not more. We both understood needing a little space just like we both understood the importance of our time together. Was Luke the man I saw myself marrying? Possibly. In our four months of dating, Luke and I hadn't discussed marriage or kids, but it was a thrill for me to be capable of even imagining it—without fear or ambivalence—at all. _

_Someone cleared their throat behind us, breaking up our impromptu make-out session. I looked over Luke's shoulder and saw my father standing there looking only half as embarrassed as I felt. "Oh, Dad, I was just looking for you."_

"_Well, that's not the first place _I_ would have checked."_

_A blush creeped up my neck. _How long was he standing there?_ I thought as I handed over the necklaces he had given me earlier. I explained which one Mom wanted to wear, and he handed it off to one of the Windsor Club's attendants to be delivered to my mother ASAP. He gave Luke and me a polite nod before heading back to his parlor to finish getting ready. _

"_I should go. We'll finish this later." I arched one eyebrow for emphasis. Luke tried to hide his smirk but to no avail. He kissed me, more sweetly this time, before we parted ways._

_After the ceremony, I hung back to let the room clear out. Rory's focus seemed to be on someone in the crowd, but mine was on the handsome man walking toward me. _

"_You did good," said Luke, slipping his arm around my waist and turning us around to follow the crowd to the reception being held in the next room. "That wink you gave me almost gave Marilyn a heart attack."_

_I chuckled softly. "At least the hard part's over. Now we just have to mingle a little bit, and then the rest of the night should be a piece of cake. God, I'm starving."_

Boy, was I wrong. And on both accounts. Nothing, and I mean _nothing_, felt worse than when my gaze fell on Christopher walking into the reception hall after the ceremony. In that moment, I saw everything I loved and cherished slip right through my fingers. But then Luke and I danced. We danced over and over, and I saw a glimmer of hope that told me we would be okay. We would, at some point, have a private discussion about the now infamous tequila night, but in that moment, I hadn't completely destroyed things. Even as I sat there, downplaying Christopher's not-so-subtle digs toward Luke at the table, I felt like I could turn this awkward night around.

I'm ashamed at myself for not being able to see any of this coming. There I was, supporting my mother and father as best as I could during their separation and planning this ridiculous vow renewal, and the whole time they were plotting against me. I wasn't sure if my father was involved, but it hurt just the same. And Christopher. To betray my trust and join forces with Emily, of all people, was the cherry on top of a shit-flavored sundae. Not once during the past few months did I sense any pining on Christopher's part. Rory did try and warn me, but I had nothing to fear, because I would not have reciprocated those feelings nor would I have encouraged it. I loved Luke way too much to jeopardize what we had started to build.

Chris's words echoed in my head. _Emily told me it wasn't too late. _If I wasn't feeling every emotion a human was capable of in this moment, I would have called my mother and confronted her. At what point did she even talk to Christopher between getting back together with my father a week ago, and now? Why did that ambush or intervention or whatever the hell Emily thought she was doing have to be, of all places, at her vow renewal? Did she think Luke and I were going to pull the judge aside and have him marry us next?

Suddenly, Emily's demeanor in her suite this morning made perfect sense to me. She had let her guard down and was genuinely asking me if I wanted to be married only to forget that my answer would imply I wanted to marry Luke. By then, she had to assume that Christopher would show up and foil whatever dream future I might have been planning with my boyfriend.

A ball of anger formed in the pit of my stomach as I pulled out my cellphone and held down the number two. Luke was a stickler for obeying road laws, but I hoped that he would transgress just this once. Unfortunately, it went straight to voicemail.

"Hey, hon, it's me. I'm in a cab on my way back home. Please call me when you get this, I really need to talk to you."

My voice quavered only a tiny bit as I tried to cover up my worry with false elation. We could fix this, I told myself. If Luke could get past the lie about the tequila night, then we could face this other drama together. That's all it was: Drama. Unsolicited, unwanted, uncalled for drama. I clung to the fact that it was not my fault that my mother invited Christopher, and it was not my fault that he'd apparently been holding a candle to me this whole time.

This whole thing could not be pinned on me, and I wasn't going to let it. Emily and Christopher would pay their due, but right now, no one else mattered. The only thing that mattered to me was finding Luke and fixing what had been cracked between us.

As the driver took the Stars Hollow exit, I decided to change course. I gave him the directions to Luke's instead, and a few minutes later, I stepped out onto the curb in front of the diner.


	14. You Wanna Know What I'm Thinking?

The cold February air whipped through the open windows of my truck, sending an icy chill right through the crisp, white dress shirt I still wore. With my jaw clenched, I fought the urge to roll up the windows and blast the heat. _Not until you make it out of Hartford,_ I scolded myself. Not until I could breathe without that weighted sensation in my chest. That feeling of adrenaline mixed with anger. And a little bit of dread.

Bailing on Lorelai after the argument with Christopher was not my initial plan—even though listening to him spout on and on about how Lorelai and I were not forever, just for now, made me queasy. Even more so was the fact that she didn't necessarily deny it. Not once. There was no way I could stand there, images of the two of them together clouding my mind. I snuck out of a side door that, from what I had learned earlier in the day when I was left alone while everyone else got ready, was a shortcut to the coat-check room at the front of the club. After giving the attendant my ticket, I pulled on my long coat and headed through the front entrance for some air.

Outside there were a few older gentlemen smoking cigars, which smelled horrible, so I gave the valet my ticket so that he could retrieve my truck. All the while, I waited for Lorelai to come barreling out of the club in a desperate attempt to talk to me, to explain what happened, to put my mind at ease. But she didn't. It was maybe two minutes tops since I had pushed through that secret side-door, but it felt like more. When the valet pulled up, I removed my overcoat and suit jacket, tossed them on the vacant passenger seat, and slid in behind the wheel. I gave the glass doors at the front of the Windsor Club one last cursory glance before rolling down both windows, putting my truck into gear, and driving off.

Finally, I spotted the WELCOME TO NEW BRITAIN sign and released the breath I didn't realize I had been holding. I pulled to the side of the deserted interstate and rolled up the windows. The warmth felt good as it penetrated my frozen, numb skin. My mind felt clearer, too. Clear enough to know that I wasn't ready to deal with all of this yet. I needed time to sort through all the lies and things that _he_ brought up, and the meddling. That word, meddling, made me feel like I was in one of those old Scooby-Doo cartoons. Every time they caught the bad guy, he would say, "You meddling kids." Or something to that effect. It was a ridiculous comparison, but so was this situation. I'm forty years old, I shouldn't have to worry about people _meddling _in my relationship. But here we are. Gripping the steering wheel, I stamped on the accelerator and coasted steadily toward Stars Hollow.

When I pulled up in front of the diner, I noticed there were still a few customers dining inside. The questions about why Lorelai was not with me at the moment were inevitable considering the whole town knew where we were tonight, but I wasn't ready to have that conversation. Not that I owed anyone an explanation; it was the pestering I wanted to avoid. Instead, I pulled around to the back entrance so that I could sneak in without being seen. A thought stopped me as I slid my key into the lock on the back door: The diner, followed by my apartment, would be the first place Lorelai looked for me. She'd want to talk; I knew her well enough to know that was her specialty.

I pocketed my keys and decided to walk up the sidewalk along Doose's, hoping like hell I could remain incognito. As I passed the arcade, considering for a moment to duck inside if it weren't for the obnoxious music and too bright lights, I noticed the sign out front of the Black, White, and Read bookstore that said a movie was playing tonight. The showing was for _My Man Godfrey_; it didn't sound familiar, but I felt like the theater was the last place Lorelai would look, so I ducked in there instead. Kirk was manning the ticket booth/concession stand when I walked in, and I knew before he even asked that he would wonder why I was alone and not with Lorelai.

"She's, uh, not feeling well," I told him, handing over a five dollar bill because it was all I had on me.

"So you decided to come to the movies? Interesting," replied Kirk, taking his sweet time removing my change from the register.

"Why is that interesting?" I asked through gritted teeth. I was not in the mood to be appraised by the town putz.

"Well considering the fact that I can count on one hand the number of times you've come here in the last, I don't know, five years. I think something's up."

I leaned in close. "I think your shirt is buttoned up too tight, and you're not getting enough oxygen to the brain."

Kirk's hand involuntarily went to the collar of his over-starched dress shirt, tugging at it to loosen it up. He cleared his throat. "Four dollars is your change. Can I interest you in a snack for the movie? If you buy two Junior Mints you get a free hunk of onion beef jerky—"

"Shove the jerky up your ass, Kirk," I grumbled, snatching my change off the counter before heading inside the theater.

It was a little more packed than I thought it would be which served me right for coming here in the first place, thinking I'd be able to process this night in peace. The only seat available was what I thought was the infamous Big Red couch from our double date with Dean and Rory, but it turned out to be a smaller version. It was hard to believe that that date was only four months ago. With all the time Lorelai and I spent together, it felt like we'd been a couple for much longer.

I took a quick glance at my surroundings and was relieved to see that I recognized no one. It was bad enough Kirk saw me sans Lorelai, I didn't need Hello! magazine adding to the rumor mill or alerting Lorelai to where I was at the moment.

But she found me anyway. How she did, I didn't ask, but I assumed it had to be Kirk. Avoiding eye contact with her was hard but necessary. I knew that if I looked into her eyes I would forget about my own pain and focus on hers. And that wasn't what I needed to be doing. I needed time, like I told her, and I needed it now. Once she left, the tightness in my chest returned. But it was no longer the adrenaline-induced, angry kind. My heart felt bereaved.

Believe it or not, I don't enjoy fighting with people. Especially people I loved. Fixing things was my specialty, but I didn't know how to fix this. Not when I didn't fully understand why this was happening in the first place. Who was I kidding? I had a hunch. On some level I've known since that dinner Lorelai and I had with Emily a few months back. I've known since I was coerced into playing golf with Richard. The Gilmores don't think I'm good enough for their daughter. The funny thing is I accepted, or thought I accepted, that fact long ago. The way I saw it was that they didn't know me aside from whatever they could see on paper, so it wasn't pertinent that I got their approval. Lorelai was a grown woman and could make her own relationship choices, and she chose me. But I underestimated them. And Christopher, too. Birds of a feather flock together.

When I woke the next morning, I was hit with a fresh wave of annoyance at everything and everyone. Tossing and turning—my mind played back not only the events from the night before but also from the morning of the reenactment—made for a sleepless night. My gut had told me something was up that day, but I ignored it because I trusted Lorelai more than anyone. And then I gave her another opportunity to come clean, and once again, she lied. I'm not a jealous man until I'm given a reason to be jealous. Deep down, I did believe Lorelai when she said nothing happened. I've known her for a long time. Of her many, many personality traits and quirks, being unfaithful wasn't one of them. But withholding information to spare someone's feelings was. If you can't have trust in a relationship, then what's the point? How was I supposed to believe that drinking tequila all night long with an ex wasn't a big deal when she kept that information from me this whole time? How would I know that this wouldn't keep happening again and again? The questions kept coming, and I knew only she could answer them. But I still needed more time.

_You wanna know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking I can't be in this relationship, it's too much._ My own words repeating over and over in my head as I paced my apartment later on that day. I needed her to stop talking. I needed her to stop making this all about her. And it worked. It killed me, the look on Lorelai's face, but I couldn't let her ramblings and promises control the situation. If a person is desperate enough, they'll promise you the world to get you to agree to something. That's not sincere. That's not love. You have to own your mistakes, and yes, Lorelai did apologize for the tequila night. But she also made excuses for Christopher's behavior. That's not what I wanted to hear. I didn't care that he was weak or drunk or stupid. I cared that he was a threat to my relationship, and Lorelai didn't see it. I cared that her parents thought that he—an absentee father who bailed on two of the most important women in my life—was a better match for Lorelai than me after everything I've done for the two of them. And I cared that the whole town was watching us fall apart, taking sides with their blue and pink ribbons.

Couples fought, I knew that. I also knew that I wasn't the easiest guy to be around most of the time. Grumpy, surly, curmudgeon: all terms used to describe me over the years. There seemed to be a pilot light of anger that stayed lit inside my stomach. It was controllable, most of the time, except for a hand full of occasions over the years when I let it control me. The last time was when I found out my ex-wife was cheating on me. The car of the douchebag she was seeing took the brunt of my anger, but had I confronted Nicole that night instead, there was no telling what kind of vitriol I would have spewed at her.

That's exactly what I _didn't _want to happen with Lorelai. No part of me ever wanted to intentionally hurt her, so I thought by avoiding her the chances of that happening were few and far between. Once I was able to get past this anger over the unfortunate chain of events that took place, we could try and move forward little by little. We could try and get back on track. We could finally talk about what happened. So why didn't I tell her that the next night when she called me her ex-boyfriend? Why did I stand there, letting her call the shots, instead of speaking up? Why did I pop that little tape back into my answering machine and listen to her message a second time?

The pain and rawness in her voice was a knife to the gut. Immediately, I was transported to a year ago when Lorelai and I were supposed to have dinner to discuss me investing in the inn. Instead, I held her as she broke down, calling herself a failure, making me want to throttle the person who put that thought inside her head. Even then, when we weren't anything more than friends, my heart twisted at the sight of her broken and crying. I remember thinking that I would never want to be the one who made that bright, beautiful light of a person look so dimmed and shattered.

That's why I raced over to her house after hearing her quavering plea through the speaker of my answering machine, bending to her will like always. I didn't care, though. The fact that I may have pushed her to that point of dejection was too much to bear. And like the fool that I am, it was too late. I had so much to say, but none of it would come out. She was so sure about everything. About not being that girl who breaks down. About hearing me when I said I was out. When did I say that? There was no keeping up with her. Her eyes were clear and her face determined. It all happened so fast that I was powerless to stop it.

Did I really end this relationship I waited so long for? Wouldn't I feel relieved if that's what I wanted the end result to be? What would my world—my real world, not the diner world—look like without her in it? Every inch of my apartment reminded me of her in some way. My kitchen, and my sad excuse for a living room. My little side table next to the couch that I cleared off for her that now held her latest stack of gossip magazines. My bed. What was I supposed to do now, move?

The night of the town meeting when I professed to the town that Lorelai and I were in a relationship and that we would never break-up came rushing back, punching me hard in my already bruised heart. But then another thought occurred to me. I didn't want to move, I didn't want to close up Luke's, and I didn't want to be done with our relationship. Perhaps we just needed a break from each other, a cool-down period. _In a few days,_ I thought as I popped open my answering machine and extracted the tape, _this will have all blown over_. A tiny flicker of hope bloomed in my chest as I tossed the tape into the trash can and got myself ready for bed. 

* * *

**A/N:** Unpopular opinion, but I don't think Luke was breaking up with Lorelai when he told her what he was thinking, so that's the route I took with this chapter. Also, the way he acts in the next episode about volunteering to help build sets in hopes that Lorelai would be there proves that he wasn't done with the relationship. Thank you to those that are still following along! I'm currently working on episode 5.20, so I'm just about done :)


	15. Do You Love Me?

**A/N:** This chapter will be a little bit different from the others. I wanted to get both character's perspectives on the break-up, so I broke it up into two parts. First, there's Lorelai's POV after Luke leaves her house at the end of 5.14 and then Luke's POV a week later in episode 5.15. I'm ignoring the fact that Lorelai tells Rory, in regards to Christopher emailing Rory, "And only two weeks after the fact." 5.14 takes place over the course of 3 days, not a week (does that make sense?). The timeline in the show can be hard to trace sometimes. Anyway, enjoy. 

* * *

As soon as the front door closed, tears pricked the back of my eyes. I squeezed them shut, willing my put-together façade to stay intact. "I'm not that girl, I'm not that girl," I chanted through gritted teeth, bracing myself against the banister. Slowly, I climbed the stairs. It seemed my mantra was working, until I reached my bedroom. _How did I not see it before?_ I thought as I stooped down and picked up Luke's old Stars Hollow High sweatshirt I confiscated months ago that was now balled up on the floor near the foot of my bed. Wriggling out of my overcoat, I then slipped the sweatshirt on. Technically it was Luke's, but he hadn't worn it in twenty-five years, so to me, it didn't count as his. And I only wore it at home, mostly because my house was always freezing, and because at Luke's, I slept in his plaid shirt I had claimed after our first date, our first night together, our first…

_Stop_, I scolded myself, _don't go there_. A break-up with the potential love of your life was not the end of the world. There were way more worse things that could happen and have happened. Maybe not to me, but to someone else, I'm sure. I knew that thought was hyperbole, but I didn't care as I cleared off my bed still covered with bowls of snacks that my sweet, thoughtful daughter brought me. I was surrounded by every snack imaginable, and none of it appealed to me even though my stomach was an empty pit.

My body felt numb. How was I supposed to feel anything but dread when ultimately this was all my fault? I lied, I pushed, I thought I could talk my way out of it. Luke and I went from cracked to broken in a matter of twenty-four hours which left me feeling blindsided, at first. That's why I panicked when I left Doose's, his words reverberating in my head—_I can't be in this relationship. It's too much._ He didn't technically say he was out, but it was all semantics.

There are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. The odd thing was that stages were meant to happen in order, but for me, they swirled together and bounced around to the point where I never fully knew what stage I was going to land on next. Denial was the easier of the five. You could pretend that everything was fine or that you would be okay. But once you stopped denying your situation, the weight of it all pressed down. Hard.

I could deny that I wasn't that girl until I was blue in the face, but the minute I put that sweatshirt back on, the minute I breathed in the smell of him on my pillow—the smell of woodsy, citrus soap and _Luke_—I became that girl. Again. And, again, I cried into my Luke-scented pillow.

At some point in my wallowing, self-pity state, I had fallen asleep. My eyes were dry and sandpapery when I peeled them open the next morning, and a too bright, too happy room stared back at me. _It's not the room's fault_, I thought as I stood and pulled all of the curtains shut before climbing back into bed, covering my entire body with a blanket and creating a dark cave that better suited my mood.

I was surprised by how quickly I had moved on from denial to full-fledged, downright anger. It angered me that the world continued to move on despite my desire to put everything on pause. That, even though eventually I would have to get back into the swing of things, I wasn't ready. That my mother, my own flesh and blue blood, could take it upon herself to destroy something I was proud of, with a man who loved me for me. And then it hit me: I was also angry at said man for giving up so easily.

My anger at Luke was only a small part—if not a sliver—of the pie chart, with the majority reserved for Emily Gilmore. But it was there, though. I could feel it when I eventually ventured into the bathroom and saw the toothbrush I bought for him. And the man-scented bar of soap. And the soft face towel he used after shaving because mine were too rough, he said. I loved buying each one of those things for him. They were practical purchases, yes, but they also made his presence in my house feel more real, almost permanent.

So what angered me was that buying them didn't matter in the long run. They didn't make our relationship any more secure or stable. They didn't keep me from lying to him just like they didn't make him want to fight harder for me, for _us. _I wrapped both the toothbrush as well as the bar of soap into his perfectly soft towel and shoved it into the depths of the bathroom closet where I longed to be able to shove my grief.

By Wednesday, I had no choice but to head back into work. I had been gone since Sunday morning, and even though I had a qualified, competent staff, it didn't look good when the boss doesn't even deign to show up. It's hard to be around people when you'd rather bury yourself in a deep, dark hole in the ground, but you go through the motions, you put on a brave, happy face, and then you come home and rip that mask off and drown in your sorrows, and wallow some more. You allow yourself to feel the pain over the loss of this beautiful, wonderful thing you had that's been stripped away from you. It's not ideal by any means, but I didn't know what else to do, so I teetered on that anger/depression seesaw instead.

When Rory was small, and even in her early teenaged years, she was the perfect distraction from life's problems. Whether it was a breakup or an overdue bill or barely scraping enough money together to go all out for her eleventh birthday when I had just spent everything I had saved to buy our house, her presence seemed to smooth those rough edges of life out enough to where they wouldn't cut into me. Now, she'd flown the coop, and it was up to me to learn how to function in the midst of heartbreak alone, for the first time.

On Thursday, my chance to move into the bargaining stage came in the form of a phone call from Rory. She wanted to host Friday night dinner—the food would be provided by Yale—since my parents were on their honeymoon, and I was now the single, sad spinster once again. The tight knot in my chest that formed the minute Luke walked away during Christopher's incoherent profession of "Lorelai and I belong together" almost a week ago was still there; a stubborn, painful reminder that I hadn't seen or talked to Luke in almost four days, the longest we've gone in our short-lived, four months of being together. But, still, I told Rory I would make it to dinner while also telling myself that I could—_would—_make it through all of this. I was far from ready to accept that this was my new reality; that stage would have to wait a while. _Baby steps_, I told myself as I slipped on that old sweatshirt and settled into bed with a fresh pint of Ben & Jerry's. 

* * *

It was Saturday night, and I watched as all the kids took their places behind the closed curtain in the school auditorium. There was a hum of excitement in the air, and after a week of set building and rehearsals, even I was a little bit anxious to see the production come together. Lulu had asked if I could stand in the wings, just in case something needed repairing during the show. I hesitated, at first, until Lorelai walked through the doorway carrying an armload of costumes. For a second, our eyes met. And in that one second I was transported back to the events of the past week.

The boat was the one thing that tied us together. Yes, it was mine, and yes, I wanted it gone all those months ago, but Lorelai being Lorelai wouldn't let that happen. Every day since then that boat stood for something, a symbol of how much she cared. And to make matters worse, the boat supplies I ordered were starting to trickle in, which was another painful reminder of what I'd lost.

I needed to get her attention. I wanted to see her, and moving the boat was the only thing I could think to do. She hadn't called, she hadn't come by the diner. I paced my apartment night after night for the first few days, refusing to believe we were done, holding on to the idea that we were taking a break. But as the days marched on, the realization that we were no longer together started to become clear, and it wasn't something I was ready to accept.

So I showed up after school every day and helped build sets. I taught kids the difference between a hammer and a screwdriver. All because, in the back of my mind, I was doing it for Lorelai. This was my chance to prove to her that I was still in this; actions spoke louder than words, right? But when she didn't show up like I hoped she would, I lost it. My anger took control of me as I drove to her house and confronted her. It wasn't about the kid who tripped or the costumes. It was that I missed her like crazy but was too stubborn or headstrong to come out and say it.

Instead, I avoided responding directly to her questions about the boat. What was I supposed to say? Yes, I took the boat in hopes that you would seek me out, and then we would both realize we made a mistake and get back together? Needless to say, nothing was resolved during that argument, but being in close proximity to her for those few minutes—after spending over a week apart—told me one thing. I would never be over her.

Now, my gaze flicked back to Lulu, and I said, "Sure. Whatever you need from me."

Lulu smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Luke." She turned and grabbed some of the costumes Lorelai was holding, and the two of them started sorting them in order of necessity.

As I busied myself with my toolbox, I listened as Lulu asked if Lorelai was staying for the show, too. Lorelai told her she was and that she would stay off to the side in case Lulu needed her. This was all I wanted all week, Lorelai and me in the same room, but now that we had our first post-breakup fight, it felt awkward and a little tense. There was so much I wanted to tell her and apologize for, but the words were stuck in my throat.

The curtain opened, and the audience cheered. As the applause died down, Kirk stepped forward and began the prologue that led to the first musical number: "Tradition." Because I attended rehearsals all week, I knew the scenes by heart. And since I built the majority of the sets, I felt it was my job to get things somewhat organized backstage. To be honest, anything sounded better than staring at the back of my ex-girlfriend as she stooped down in her low-rise jeans to quickly hem Yente's dress for the upcoming "Matchmaker, Matchmaker" scene, leaving little to the imagination.

Lulu popped her head into the doorway as I was putting empty wine bottles into a metal bucket for the scene with Tevye and Lazar later on. "Luke," she said in a harsh whisper. "The paint's dry on the tables. Can you help move them backstage?"

"Be there in a second." I placed the metal bucket inside Tevye's dairy cart along with a few aluminum beer steins.

Lorelai stood at the same time I tried to squeeze behind her to get to the doorway, and her backside brushed up my front. She quickly turned around, and out of habit, I reached out and put my hand on her waist, steadying her. I had to fight the urge to pull her flush against me and kiss her with everything I had.

"Sorry," we said at the same time.

Pulling my hand back as if she had burned me, I felt the blush creep up my neck and was grateful to be leaving the room. When I got out into the hall, I took a deep breath of cool air that smelled like paste and crayons. For once, it was actually welcoming.

_This was going to be a long night_, I told myself as I carried each table behind the stage. Especially when all I could think about now was not only the smooth skin of her back but my hand on her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the silky shirt she was wearing. Our connection was so physical, so primal sometimes that I used to wonder how we spent all those years not knowing it could be like this; we had plenty of bite marks and bruises over the last four months to prove it.

Later that night, I thought we would finally have a moment together. The way she kept sneaking glances at me with tears in her eyes as if she were the one asking if _I_ loved _her_, like Tevye was asking of Golde. Of course I did, and I tried to convey that back to her—I even worked up the courage to ask her if we could talk after the show.

But the song ended, and the spell broke, and we were still the same two people who refused to tell the other what we were feeling despite it being written on both of our faces. It was as if we were waiting on the other one to make the first move. And so Lorelai slipped out before curtain call, and I was left standing there with a knot in my chest and a lump in my throat. The moment was gone.

Why did it have to be so complicated? Why did fear or pride or whatever the hell it was have to get in the way of telling someone how you feel? Maybe it was because, as much as I loved Lorelai, deep down I was still afraid of everything that went wrong happening again. The interference, the meddling, the dishonesty. But I also knew that being apart from her didn't work for me either. Was there not a middle ground? Either I continued to completely stay away, pining for her from a distance—which seemed to do more harm than good—or I accepted that we were done and move on.

Anger bloomed in my chest as it dawned on me that neither of those two options gave me what I wanted the most: my relationship with Lorelai back.


	16. The Man That Got Away

"You've won. Go back to her. I promise to stay out of it." Emily made her way to the door. "You're going to have to clean that window."

Kirk scrambled back inside and set his plate down with a clunk. "Man, that was intense."

"What are you talking about? You weren't even in here."

"No, I meant trying to hold my plate with one hand and eat with the other." Kirk took a bite of whatever charred thing I tossed on his plate earlier. You'd swear it was a ribeye by the way he wolfed it down.

_She wants you, Luke. _Turning around, I pinched the bridge of my nose, Emily's words repeating in my head. She'd said I won. Won what? I didn't realize my love for her daughter was some sort of competition or contest. And whom was I competing with? None of this made sense. I needed to process Emily's words. Did Lorelai tell her that she still wanted me or was that Emily Gilmore, once again, assuming she knows what her daughter wants?

I've spent the last week being incredibly angry with everyone and everything. The plan I devised involving the boat backfired, and now I was forced to stare at it as it sat in front of my diner day after day. The supplies I ordered sat untouched and unopened on my kitchen table—a constant reminder of the before. That was how I started to refer to my life: the before, and the after. It goes without saying that the before was happier moments while the after was nothing but misery.

After Kirk finished, I counted down the register, started the dishwasher, and trudged up to my apartment that seemed to glower back at me lately, mirroring my own mood. Upstairs, I turned on all the lamps and checked the machine for messages. I flicked on the kitchen light before grabbing a beer out of the fridge. Standing in front of the table, I took stock of the stack of boxes. They were mostly small which irritated me to no end; these items came from the same place. _Why couldn't they ship everything in one large box?_ I thought as I took out my pocket knife. What a waste of cardboard, and time, and money.

I set my unopened beer down on the table and sliced open one of the boxes. It was filled with teak bungs which are used to cover up screw holes. The coloring was perfect, and as I rolled one of them between my thumb and forefinger, I felt something like eagerness start to bloom inside me. It was a tiny bit of what I was feeling on that day I placed my order: excitement over starting a new chapter in my life. Of course, that chapter was supposed to include Lorelai, but instead of focusing on that, I tried to focus on the task at hand. My brain had other ideas, though.

_I promise to stay out of it. _That was my biggest fear: the meddling. Lorelai had lied, and I truly believed she was sorry about that, but what kept me from giving in to her all those weeks ago at Doose's was not knowing if her mother—and maybe even Christopher—would continue to insert herself where she didn't belong. How would I know if a promise from Emily Gilmore would hold up? There was so much at stake here, and until I discussed this with Lorelai, I couldn't see things ever working out.

But she still wasn't talking to me. I haven't even seen her since that night of the school play. I'm to blame, too. I haven't exactly reached out. I've been too angry lately, and god only knows what might have come out of my mouth if we talked. With a sigh, I picked up the last box. It was the biggest of all the boxes, and when I pulled open the flaps, I knew why. Removing the lid, I looked down at Lorelai's yellow rubber boots. _I'll look like the Morton's Salt girl. _The memory made me smile; the first real smile in days. Hell, probably weeks.

What have I been waiting for this whole time? Why did I leave it up to her to make amends if she wanted to? Why is it so damn hard to open up and let the person I love know how much they mean—and have always meant—to me? An overwhelming feeling came over me that I wasn't expecting. It gripped at my throat and squeezed my heart, leaving me almost breathless. I needed to see Lorelai, and I needed to see her now.

Downstairs, I grabbed my coat and locked the diner's door before heading down the street. The entire half-walk/half-jog to Lorelai's house I ran over in my mind everything I wanted to tell her. I would start with something like, "I'm sorry for showing up like this, but we really need to talk." She would either invite me in or slam the door in my face, the latter of which I was trying to prepare for.

But when she opened her door, the words got stuck, and I did what I did almost a year ago: I let my actions speak. Flashes of the miserable last few weeks I'd had fueled me, and I poured every emotion I was feeling into that kiss. And so did she.

Lorelai reached out and closed the door before circling her arms around my neck. Rising on her tip toes, she deepened the kiss. My grip tightened; I never wanted to let her go again. I reluctantly broke the kiss after the need for air became too much. With our faces only inches apart, I caressed her cheek with the back of my knuckles.

"What's happening?" whispered Lorelai, hoarsely.

I tried desperately to remember the speech I rehearsed on the trek over, but my brain was foggy with adrenaline, and arousal. I choked out, "I was so damn tired of missing you, Lorelai."

Sighing, Lorelai closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to mine as if she had waited to hear those words her entire life. I closed my eyes as well, enjoying the feel of our bodies pressed up against each other.

The spell broke when, suddenly, she turned and walked into her living room, picking up the remote control and pausing the movie that was playing the soundtrack to my grand entrance. She turned around to face me as I stood next to the couch. Her lips were red and a little swollen from the intensity of our greeting, and her fingers were fidgeting with the zipper on the jacket she was wearing. She looked unsure, guarded.

"I've missed you too, Luke, but we can't just jump back into things," she finally said.

I held both of my hands up. "No, I know that. I came here to talk, but then I saw you, and…I'm sorry."

She smiled sadly. "Don't be sorry, it was great. It was…mind-blowing, actually." A soft chuckle escaped her throat.

A smug smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm," she agreed, fighting a smug smile of her own.

This was the core of our relationship. We knew each other better than anyone else. All the ticks, all the buttons, all the things that turned the other on. The sexual current that ran between us was undeniable, even more so now that we knew how good we were together. But I couldn't think about that until I was sure we were going to move forward as a couple again.

I started to unbutton my coat but stopped. "Is it okay if we talk?"

Lorelai nodded. "Of course. Do you want anything? Water, beer, bourbon…"

Liquid courage sounded great, but I wanted to keep a clear head, so I opted for water. After I removed my coat, I perched on the edge of her couch. There were Chinese food containers scattered on her coffee table which told me she had at least been keeping herself fed. I, on the other hand, couldn't remember the last time I ate a well-balanced meal.

She padded back into the living room holding two bottles of water. After handing me mine, Lorelai took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, facing me with her legs tucked underneath her.

"Sorry about the mess. I ordered food for Rory and me, but she ended up heading back to school earlier than I thought."

There was an all-too-familiar tone in her voice that told me there was more to the story, but I decided to back burner the thought and stay focused on us. "The mess is fine. I, uh…" My brain seemed to quit functioning, so I spit out the first thing that came to me. "Your boots came in."

Her brows furrowed. "My…"

"The work boots. The yellow ones you wanted me to order for you. You said you'd look like—"

"The Morton's Salt girl," she finished with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Slowly, I nodded. "For two weeks, the stuff I ordered for the boat has been coming in, and for two weeks, I've been letting the boxes pile up on my kitchen table. Tonight, I finally opened them, and there they were. These boots you had to have. And I remembered how happy it made you, and I smiled for the first time in…a long time."

"See? Those boots are pretty powerful," she quipped, smiling. She sipped from her bottle, watching me carefully.

I breathed in deeply before blurting out, "Your mother came into the diner tonight." Leaning forward, I placed my water bottle on the coffee table and turned to face Lorelai.

Her smile faded as she slowly sat up straight. "I'm sorry, what?"

"She came in, right before I closed. Told me you two weren't speaking and promised to stay out of our relationship if I went back to you."

Lorelai covered her face with her free hand. "Oh, my god."

"I was pretty shocked, too."

Lorelai looked up after a moment. "Luke, you don't think I sent her there, do you?"

"Of course not." The thought never occurred to me.

Lorelai nodded. "Good, okay." I could see the wheels in her head turning now, so her next question didn't surprise me. "So, if she hadn't come in the diner, would you still have come here?"

Obviously, I wanted that answer to simply be yes. It would be easier, it would at least be the half-truth. But lying is what got us here in the first place. If we were going to move forward, start fresh, I couldn't start things off with a lie. My hesitancy tipped her off, and she stood with a huff.

"Okay, got it."

"Hey, no, would you let me explain? Please, it's more complicated than a yes or no."

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at the floor. Finally, she looked up and said, "Okay, fine. Explain."

I waited for her sit back down before I spoke. "I admit, your mother telling me she would stay out of our relationship was a huge relief. Out of everything that happened, I think that was the hardest pill to swallow. It was one thing for her to not like me, but it was a whole other ball game for her to actively go out of her way to destroy what we had. I've never had to deal with something like that before, so that day in Doose's I meant what I said. It was all too much."

Lorelai sniffled as she used the sleeve of her jacket to wipe a stray tear off of her cheek. "I can't be in this relationship."

My stomach flipped.

"That's what you said," she croaked, sniffling again.

It took me a moment to realize she was quoting me. "I did say that, but I said it because I needed to make you stop. Time was what I asked for. And not just for my sake, but yours, too. But you wouldn't give me that."

She exhaled sharply. "I was panicking, Luke, and you wouldn't let me explain, so it all came out like word vomit. I got it in my head that the more time we spent apart, the more you would prefer it that way, and it killed me not knowing if that's what you were thinking."

At the time, it seemed Lorelai's only concern was talking her way out of the situation. I was too mad to see that she was just as afraid of losing me as I was of not knowing if the interference from her mother would continue. Our wires got crossed, it seemed.

"I never wanted us to be done," I said softly. "In my head, we were cooling off. But the days turned into weeks, and it started to become a little more clear that maybe I was too late. But then I saw the boots, and something told me that I had to find out if we were over for good."

"I"—Lorelai pinched the bridge of her nose—"can't help but feel like you got my mother's permission to come here."

"You're looking at it the wrong way."

"Am I?" she asked, desperately. "Because the way I see it is I haven't seen you in a week, and then out of the blue my mother shows up, tells you to come back to me, and here you are."

I scooted to the middle of the couch, gently pulling her hand onto my lap. "Hey, look at me." When she did, I continued, "These last few weeks were the worst. It didn't get easier being away from you, it was harder. I didn't know how much longer I could handle it. Ask around. I threw people out of the diner, literally. I burned food, and I served undercooked food."

"Rory told me about a particularly disgusting cheeseburger." The corner of her mouth pulled up.

I smiled back. "See? I'm not me when I'm not with you."

She was quiet for what felt like ages before she asked, "Do you forgive me?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be here."

"Are you sure? Because I don't want to feel like you'll hold what happened over my head. I want to leave it at the door, outside in the cold, where it dies of hypothermia, and then we bury it in the backyard along with the bird we found a few years ago that flew into the side of the garage."

"I'm sure. What's done is done—we can't change what happened."

She nodded. "I would if I could, though. It was one stupid decision after another, and I promise not to let it happen again."

There was a steeliness in her voice that assured me she was telling the truth. Clearly, our time apart hadn't been good for her either. Being this close to her after so long, I could see that she had lost some weight. There were faint shadows underneath her eyes from an obvious lack of sleep. I knew these facts without having to ask, because I was going through the exact same thing.

I cleared my throat. "So, are we…?"

She smiled and nodded once. "We are."

"Good."

"Good."

"Come here," I said, tugging on her hand.

Straddling my lap, Lorelai took off my hat and tossed it aside as I gently removed her hair tie. Her hair fell forward, curtaining our faces, and we kissed. There was neither urgency nor desperation, like before. It was soft and sweet as if we were rediscovering each other all over again. I pushed her hair back with the tips of my fingers and she smiled, grazing her bottom lip with her teeth.

"I love you," I said, thickly.

"And I love you," she responded, misty-eyed.

In that moment, I knew I made the right decision in coming here. Our relationship wasn't perfect—not by a long shot. We're both flawed, stubborn, independent people. But we're our best selves when we're together. I know this because I was my worst self when we were apart.

"Take me to bed, Luke," she said, in between kisses. There was a huskiness in her voice that sent a tingle of excitement to all the right places.

After weeks apart, she didn't have to tell me twice.


	17. The Crazy Need Love Too

"Okay, this is stupid," I said, unable to wipe the beatific grin off my face. I've seen Luke almost every day since our reconciliation a week ago, but this was different. This was official.

He smiled back. "Yes, it is."

"It's not like we've never done this before."

"We have."

"And successfully."

"I made it to the door."

"I made it to the car."

I sighed happily. After all that time apart, we still had it. That was one of the best parts about being in love with your best friend. It was so easy to slip back into that familiarity and well-established banter. My smile broadened as I stared dreamily at the amazing man standing in front of me.

"Hey."

"Hey," he said back before wrapping one strong arm around my shoulders and leading me to the truck where our banter continued.

Forty-five minutes later we pulled up at Marino's. It was an Italian restaurant located in Torrington, which was about thirty miles north of Stars Hollow. When Luke and I first started dating, he was very adamant about "not dating" in town too often. And what he meant by that was he wanted privacy and intimacy, which he felt could only be achieved outside of Stars Hollow. There were rare occasions when I could persuade him to eat local. The last time was our ill-fated trip to Al's where he was served the now infamous blue manicotti—I didn't blame the guy for wanting to steer clear of that place.

I, on the other hand, hadn't really experienced a whole lot of life outside the confines of Stars Hollow. Hartford, I knew a little bit. We didn't eat out much when I was a kid, mostly the country club, and on a rare occasion, my parents would let me tag along with them to their tried and true restaurants like Bastide.

But Luke knew all the good places to eat in Connecticut, and Marino's was definitely one of them. The restaurant itself wasn't overtly fancy. It had a very homey, family-owned feel to it with its hardwood floors and wood paneling. There was a brick archway that separated two dining rooms, and each table was covered with a white tablecloth and a crystal votive that held a tea-light candle.

The owners were Chris and Cheryl—brother and sister—who took over the family restaurant a few years earlier. Cheryl recognized Luke and me right away and showed us to a table in the corner of the smaller dining room. The larger dining room seemed to be hosting some sort of party. A retirement party, perhaps, judging by the age range of people in attendance.

"It's been a while since the two of you dropped in," said Cheryl, placing down two menus in front of each of us.

Luke and I exchanged a look before I said, "Work has been keeping us super busy. You know how it is."

"I hear that," responded Cheryl, knowingly. "I'll send Matt over with some wine. Red, right?"

"Yes," Luke and I said in unison. We exchanged another look, and a smile, as Cheryl walked away.

Matt brought over two wine glasses and a bottle of merlot, which he poured for us. We also ordered the Italian cured meats and cheese plate as an appetizer while we figured out what our main courses would be. We grabbed our glasses and took a hearty sip.

"So, how does it feel to have your boat back in my garage?" I asked, causing Luke to choke on his sip of wine. "Oh, did you think I meant…? That wasn't a metaphor, babe."

Luke coughed a few times before taking a swig from his water glass. With a pointed look, he said, "Yes, it was."

I chuckled softly. "What can I say? A dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste."

"I'll drink to that," said Luke, and we clinked wine glasses. He eyed me over the rim of his glass as he drank. "You look beautiful tonight."

I felt my cheeks flush with happiness. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Either way, my back-together-with-Luke dress seemed to be working its magic. "Thank you."

We perused the menu until Matt came back with our appetizer. I ordered the tortellini della nonna in a horrible, exaggerated Italian accent, which I emphasized with a chef's kiss, while Luke opted for sautéed sea scallops.

I grabbed a slice of salami and topped it with a piece of fontina cheese before popping it into my mouth. "Mmm, so good. I don't understand why they serve this cheese, but they don't offer fondue. Isn't it the same thing?"

Luke fixed his own meat-and-cheese roll-up, chewing it thoughtfully. "Fondue is made with Swiss cheese, this is Italian. You can bake fontina cheese, but it's not the same consistency."

Popping an olive into my mouth, I said, "I love when you teach me food stuff, it's so sexy."

"Talking about cheese is far from sexy."

"It is when you do it." I grabbed my wine and took a quick sip. "Do you know how much I missed you?"

Luke grinned. "Only because you've reminded me on _several_ occasions."

That was true. The night we got back together—and the next few after that—I had this need in me to make sure Luke knew how much I missed him, loved him, needed him. I'd never felt like that before. Our love was a delicate, beautiful thing, and I had to protect it this time.

So far, we'd kept true to our word; we hadn't discussed the events that led to our time apart. It's not like we were pretending it never happened—believe me, it was hard to forget. I've learned that dwelling on things you can't change or have already happened will only drive you insane.

Instead, we talked about other things when we weren't in bed making up for lost time. There seemed to be endless stories about work and the inane gossip one could pick up on only when working in our respective fields. The Dragonfly being featured as one of the Top Ten Inns in Connecticut for the _American Travel_ magazine was a big topic, and Luke was beyond proud. I had also filled him in on Rory now dating Logan. He didn't remember who Logan was at first until I told him he was the blond guy he walked in on _that night_. The tidbit helped.

I grabbed another olive and rolled it in a strip of prosciutto. "What can I say? I like to be thorough."

Luke held my gaze for a moment before he said, "I don't know if this is against the rules, but can I ask if you've heard from your mother?"

"Nope," I answered, simply, at the same time Matt came with our entrées. He made sure everything came out right and that we didn't need anything else.

When he walked away, Luke said, "No, I can't ask, or no, you haven't heard from her?"

"The latter," I responded around a mouth full of tortellini.

Luke nodded slowly as he dug into his scallops. He didn't expect me to embellish, and I didn't intend to. Hopefully, one day down the road, talk of my parents in any way won't be awkward or upsetting. The wounds were still fresh, though. Luke had forgiven me and vice versa, but what my mother did wasn't something I could get over easily. The thought of Emily going back on her word brought a vulnerability to our relationship, like things could implode once again. I didn't like that feeling.

"So," said Luke, sensing a change of topic was needed, "what do you want to do after this?"

I smiled. "You mean you didn't plan the _entire _evening? Luke Danes, I am shocked."

"I was in charge of dinner, so it's your job to plan the entertainment."

And that's how, an hour later, Luke and I found ourselves parked in front of West Hill Lake with me straddling his lap, as best as one could in the small cab of a truck wearing a rather form-fitting dress. It wasn't our first steamy make-out session to take place in a vehicle, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Sometimes the mood strikes.

"How's this for entertainment?" I asked, breathlessly, as Luke tore his mouth from mine and peppered kisses down the side of my neck.

"Mm-hmm," Luke mumbled as he concentrated on his ministrations.

I pulled his face to mine, kissing him deeply. That hazy, foggy "I don't care who sees us, I just need this to happen _now_" feeling was starting to take over, but I had enough control left to stop and ask Luke if he had a condom.

His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as he let his head rest against the back window of his truck. "No. I wasn't exactly expecting…"

"No, I know," I chuckled. "I wasn't sure if you carried one in your wallet."

Luke exhaled softly as he smiled. "I'm not fifteen, so no."

"So, horoscopes only. Got it."

I gave him a few more soft kisses before reluctantly sliding off his lap, readjusting my dress, and pulling my coat back on. Being parked so close to the water made for an extremely chilly night. Luke stayed put so he could get himself under control. But after a minute or so, he still hadn't been able to move.

"Oh! I know." I leaned forward and rummaged around on the floor of the truck, lifting up my foil swan of leftovers, until I found what I was looking for. "This'll do the trick."

I popped in his _Reggae Fever_ cd I had mocked him for earlier and cranked up the volume. Thirty seconds into the first song was all it took for the hazy cloud of need to lift. Luke scooted behind the wheel, and we headed back to Stars Hollow. Our stolen, impromptu moment was totally worth skipping dessert over. 

* * *

The next morning it was back to business as usual. As much as I wanted to stay tucked into the naked, solid wall of Luke's warm body all day, we both had to get to work. And since part of our night was inconveniently interrupted by a sleep-walking Kirk—whom Luke was unable to locate after twenty minutes of searching—we opted for a shared shower to make up for the short but weird turn our evening had taken. Stashed away in my bathroom closet was the towel, toothbrush, and bar of soap that I had bought for Luke, and it was a huge relief to be able to finally extricate them. Things were back on the right track, and I'd never felt happier.

That was until I received a phone call from Luke as I was running errands later on that morning. Technically, it wasn't Luke doing the talking—or shouting, as it turned out. It was my mother. The amount of panic I felt as I ran to Luke's was indescribable. In that short moment, I felt everything slipping away once again, but when I pulled open the diner door, Luke stood there calmly as my mother spewed whatever vitriol she could think of at him.

When it was all over with, I felt depleted, drained. I had never, in my life, told my mother to shut up. Not to her face, anyway. I was raised better than that. But the fear of what could happen if she kept interfering gripped my heart, and I needed her to stop talking. It worked.

Luke gave my wrist a reassuring squeeze before walking to the end of the counter. My heart thumped inside my chest. _Will this ever stop happening?_ I thought as I tried to control my breathing. _What about my life did she think was so disastrous? Raising a daughter on my own who now attends an Ivy League college? Owning my own business? Falling in love with a wonderful, caring man?_

My thoughts were interrupted by Luke's deep timbre. "Hey."

I looked up to see he was standing next to me, concern written all over his face.

He turned the stool so that I was facing him. Cradling my face, he said, "Do _not _listen to her, Lorelai. You hear me? She wishes her life was half as good as yours. Only unhappy people can muster up the energy to tear others down."

I felt a warm tear roll down my cheek. Luke swiped it with his thumb before leaning in and kissing me on the mouth. Emotion took over me as I grasped the back of his neck with one hand and deepened the kiss. Luke didn't pull away or act embarrassed by the PDA; the diner was empty, but the windows weren't exactly tinted. He knew more than anyone that I needed this small moment of physical connection.

I broke the kiss and pressed my forehead against his. The thumping in my chest was still there but for different reasons now. I could deal with that.

"I should go," I said, softly. "Thank you for that."

"Anytime."

The bells rung out signaling the end of our private moment. Luke walked over to take their orders as I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. Before leaving, I turned and caught Luke's eye, mouthing the words, "Olive juice." He grinned and nodded toward me in acknowledgment.

My Jeep was parked near Doose's, and as I slid in, I thought about how grounded I felt when I was with Luke. And that feeling went back further than when we started dating. He was always this voice of reason—most of the time when I didn't want to hear it. But he always had my best interest at heart. I simply wished my mother could see that.

In a way, it didn't matter. I would do what I wanted, like I always have. There was a part of me, though, that needed acceptance, especially when I worked so incredibly hard to build the life I always wanted. Maybe one day I'd get it, but today was not that day, and I couldn't care less, no matter how rattled my mother's presence at the diner made me. I would merely put on my Emily Gilmore blinders and stay focused on the things I could control: my relationships with the people I loved who loved me back, wholeheartedly.


	18. You're a Terrific Fellow, Luke Danes

"Lorelai," I mumbled softly before kissing her forehead. We were tangled up in my sheets, and somehow she managed to sprawl herself across my chest at some point in the night.

"Hmm," she groaned, unmoving.

"Aren't you supposed to meet Sookie somewhere today? You're gonna be late."

"Coffee. Shower. You," she mumbled into my chest, her voice thick with sleep.

"You want me to fix your coffee while you shower?"

Lorelai reached up and tapped the tip of her nose in confirmation.

"Well, for me to do that, you have to get up."

With a grunt, Lorelai rolled over, taking the sheet with her. Blindly, I reached over the opposite side of the bed until my fingertips touched the waistband of my boxer briefs that were carelessly deposited on the floor the night before. I stood and pulled them on, giving Lorelai's sleeping form one last glance before padding into the bathroom to start her shower.

Three weeks ago we got back together, and in those three weeks, I've become more and more certain that Lorelai is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. The time we spent apart, perhaps, had a lot to do with it. My world minus her in it was not one I wanted to experience again, and because of that, we've been spending a lot more time together.

Our things started to commingle in a way they hadn't before. In the four months before our time apart, there was the occasional forgotten bath product, an undergarment that got tossed onto the floor in a frenzy, and even the one or two items bought specifically for the other person. But, now, she had half a closet of clothes at my place and a full drawer in my bureau. At her place, I kept at least two changes of clothes, and she was able to consolidate one of the small compartments in her over-stuffed dresser that she refused to sort through. We weren't living together, technically, but I had started to imagine it.

Quietly, although I didn't know why because she was already on the verge of running late, I poured a carafe of water into the top of the coffee maker before turning it on. A thump followed by the bathroom door closing let me know she was up and no longer comatose.

Out of the fridge, I grabbed a carton of eggs, a small ziplock bag of shredded cheddar cheese, and a container of already-cooked breakfast sausage crumbles. All the fixings to make her "Lorelai's running late" meal. I whisked two eggs with a splash of milk and poured it into a hot skillet. When the eggs were almost completely cooked, I poured the container of sausage in and shuffled the mixture around until the eggs were fully cooked and the meat was warmed through.

"Something smells good," said Lorelai as she padded barefoot into the kitchen wearing a thin, pink collared shirt over a white tank top and holding a pair of tennis shoes. Her straightened hair was pulled back in a low ponytail which told me she was indeed running late. She peeked over my shoulder. "A breakfast burrito? You beautiful, beautiful man."

I smiled. "Your coffee's done. Do you want a to-go cup or your travel mug?"

She opted for the to-go cup, of course, in order to keep some semblance of her morning routine. As she pulled on her socks and shoes and tended to her coffee, I heated up a large tortilla in the microwave long enough to soften it.

"What are you and Sookie up to this early in the morning?" I asked, assembling her burrito.

"I didn't tell you? It's that time of year. Old Man Twickham's dying again."

I froze for a moment. "Oh…wow."

Lorelai studied me as she sipped her coffee. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just didn't know the spectacle had started." I rolled her burrito up in a sheet of aluminum foil.

"Hon, you've got to keep those antennas up. Knowing the gossip going on around town can be a very powerful thing."

"I prefer to use my powers for good instead of evil."

The corner of her mouth pulled up. "Hmm, you're sure about that? Because last night I witnessed some pretty devilish behavior." With one hand, she undid her ponytail and finger-combed her hair.

"Are you implying it wasn't good?" I asked in a low voice, the hint of a smile playing on my lips.

Lorelai set her coffee down before walking over to me. "Oh, it was good. It was very, _very_ good."

I tipped up her chin with my thumb and forefinger. "Then my work here is done."

"Hmm, so cocky." As she spoke, her hands slid down the dip in my waist. She gripped my hips, pulling me flush against her. It was then I remembered I was wearing only my underwear.

"What can I say? You bring it out in me." I dipped my head and kissed her on the mouth, wishing we could properly end this banter-fueled foreplay we were so good at.

Lorelai broke the kiss and smiled. "Thanks for breakfast. I'll call you later."

And then she was gone.

My apartment had been _my _apartment for the last fifteen years, but for some reason, it felt different to me after Lorelai had come and gone. It felt smaller, more drab. As I cleaned up the mess from making her breakfast, my mind wandered back to a conversation we had a week or so ago.

We were stretched out on my couch watching one of those home makeover shows when Lorelai said, "You should apply to be on this show. They'd have their work cut out for them, trying to renovate this old, tiny space. But I bet you'd get another fifteen years or so out of it."

"What makes you think I want to live here for another fifteen years?" I asked, amused.

Lorelai chuckled softly. "Seriously, Mr. Creature of Habit? You wouldn't dare leave the comfort of your Shire."

_Did I really give the impression that I was incapable of change?_ I thought but didn't verbalize. Sure, my track record wasn't the best when it came to relationships, and I already had one failed marriage under my belt, but no relationship felt like the one I had with Lorelai. No relationship felt like I was in it for the long haul.

The first step to proving that would be to show her I was capable of wanting all the traditional things that came with having a family. A home with more than one bedroom, and a driveway to park our cars instead of on the street. A yard I wouldn't mind maintaining that was big enough for family get-togethers (I assumed events like that fell under the traditional category). Lorelai wouldn't want to leave Stars Hollow, so we'd need a place that was local and in short driving distance to both of our businesses. I was sure something like that existed around here.

The thought of finding a new place to live was nowhere near as daunting as it was when it was me and Jess. To go from one crammed space to practically another made no sense, no matter how sweet Lorelai made it sound back then. Now, the thought of having a place that Lorelai and I could start in together, a place that we could maybe even grow old(er) in, made me feel one notch short of elated.

After drying the few dishes I cleaned, I decided to get dressed. My shift at the diner wasn't until later, so I had a few hours to kill. Within ten minutes, I was outside and headed for the newsstand to grab a current copy of the Stars Hollow Gazette. Ignoring the front-page story about a pet adoption fair taking place in the town square at the end of the summer, I turned to the Real Estate section.

There were mostly rentals listed: apartments, single bedrooms, and converted garages. Of the properties for sale, three were actual houses and one was a plot of land. One of the houses was in walking distance, so I turned the corner and headed to the center of town. Across from the square, I could see a long line of people snaked down the sidewalk from the Twickham house to Mrs. Kim's. Leave it to this town to turn a dying man into a town spectacle. And my girlfriend was amongst the loonies waiting to "pay their respects"—what did that say about me?

To be honest, Joshua Twickham was an old bastard. He was the town's Taylor before Taylor was even Taylor. In fact, Old Man Twickham was the one who established the role of Town Selectman, which is basically a glorified Mayor's assistant. Oh, and he hated my father.

No one knew why. My dad participated in town events, long after my mom died, and he even became a member of the stupid War Reenactment Society. But none of it mattered. Old Man Twickham refused to shop in my dad's store, and he repeatedly turned down my dad's request to get permits in order to expand the business. There were numerous other incidents over the years, mostly petty things. It seemed to bother me more than it bothered my dad; he was always better at letting things roll off his back than I ever was.

By the time I found the first house, which was nothing like I had in mind, the line at the Twickham house was non-existent. I stood across the street from the house, taking it in like I've done a thousand times since I was a kid, when it hit me. This was the house I'd been describing in my mind. It had the yard, and the space, and the driveway that led to a huge backyard. With a fresh coat of paint and an updated interior, the Twickham house could be the perfect family home.

A few hours later I was wiping down the counter when Taylor strolled into the diner dressed in his ridiculous uniform he wears while he works the soda shoppe a few times a week. The outfit wasn't the worse part: He was carrying a small cassette player that was playing what sounded like elevator music from the 1970's.

"Lucas," he said, dragging out my name. "Shame on you, young man, for not paying your respects this morning."

I rolled my eyes. "Why? Was the twentieth time the charm?"

"As a matter of fact, it was," Taylor responded, ominously.

My head snapped up. "What are you saying, Taylor? He's actually gone this time?"

"I don't do death humor despite that one year I was the Grim Reaper at the Halloween Carnival. Now, on to other business. I'd like to order, please."

With a sigh, I asked him what he wanted. He ordered a pressed turkey and Swiss sandwich on rye with pickles on the side. As I started on his food, the volume on his cassette player seemed to be getting louder and louder. It was nearly two in the afternoon, so the diner was empty, but that didn't stop me from poking my head out of the kitchen and hollering at Taylor to turn the volume down.

As I cut Taylor's sandwich in half and plated his pickles, Old Man Twickham came to mind. It was hard to believe that someone who's been dying for twenty years was gone. His was the longest, dragged-out death in the history of this town, I was willing to bet. And I felt no remorse. What I did feel was a prickle of excitement over the prospect of _possibly_ being able to buy that house.

I slid Taylor's plate in front of him at the end of the counter, and for a moment, I considered asking him what was going to happen with the Twickham house. His smug look and stupid outfit told me I'd better not. I went back into the kitchen to clean up and start the dinner prep. Not even a minute into my routine, I hear the increased sounds of elevator music once again.

"Taylor!" I shouted, wielding my trusty frying pan.

"It's calming music, Lucas, I don't see what the big deal is," said Taylor around a mouthful of turkey and Swiss.

"Does it appear to be calming me?" I could feel my blood pressure rising, like a tea kettle getting ready to whistle.

"Well, no, but what's new? Give it a chance. Most people love Muzak."

"I'm definitely not most people, so turn it off, or—"

"Or what?" interrupted Taylor with a daring look on his face.

I gripped the handle of the frying pan; my jaw was clenched just as tightly. "You better duck, Taylor, because I'm going to throw this frying pan at your head."

Before he could respond—and without thinking it through—I chucked the frying pan as hard as I could. Taylor ducked just in time, and the pan struck the glass window that separated the diner and the soda shoppe, splintering it right in the center.

I can't lie, it felt great. A sense of calm overcame me, and it was the first time I realized how wound up I must have been lately. Everything with work and Lorelai had been so Go! Go! Go! over the last few weeks, I can't remember the last time I stopped and took a breather.

"Are you insane?" shouted Taylor, interrupting my Aha! moment. "You could have killed me."

"Trust me, if I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't have used a frying pan."

I walked over to the scene of the crime. The glass would need to be replaced, which I fully intended to pay for. But, for now, all I could do was cover it up. It wasn't until I was taping parts of the newspaper I'd bought earlier onto the glass that I realized the music had stopped. Looking around, the diner was empty. Taylor was gone, and in his place, sat an empty plate and a five dollar bill. _My day couldn't possibly get any better,_ I thought as I finished taping up the window.

The diner phone rang about an hour later, and I was sure it was going to be Taylor spouting on about pressing charges for attempted murder, but thankfully, it was Lorelai.

"Hi! Are you busy? Please tell me you're not busy," she said in a rush. There was excitement in her voice that got my attention right away.

"Not at all. What's—"

"The Dragonfly is going to be on the cover of a magazine!" she all but screeched into the phone. "I don't have time to give you the details, but I wanted to tell you first."

"Wow, that's great! Is this the same magazine as the other article?"

"Yep. _American Travel_. But, look, I have a ton of work to catch up on, so I'll see you later and fill you in, okay?"

"Okay, yeah. Sounds great. And hey?"

"What?"

"I'm proud of you."

I could feel her beaming through the phone. "Thanks, hon. I'll see you later."

I placed the phone back on the wall, grinning like a fool. It felt surreal that things were falling into place for both of us. The thought that consumed me as I continued sorting through tickets from lunch was whether or not I should fill Lorelai in on what I was thinking.

Planning a life with someone you loved usually involved both people. But I still had the voice in my head telling me that I needed to prove that I was capable of change and could move forward. I decided I would lay all my cards down, and show Lorelai my hand. But not yet. Romantic gestures were my thing, and I was willing to pull off the ultimate one.


	19. I Love Watching You Cook, It's Hot

I steered the inn's cart down the gravel path located behind the Dragonfly. _What a crazy couple of days this has been,_ I thought as I pulled into an empty spot and turned off the ignition. Crickets were stirring—one of my favorite sounds of spring and summer evenings—even though we were barely through April. The sun was just starting to set, so the sky was a beautiful golden, pinkish color; it reminded me of cotton candy. To be honest, I couldn't remember the last time I took a moment to appreciate my surroundings. Life, it seemed, had been so hectic lately, but in the best way possible.

The inn has kept me incredibly busy. It's my dream, and I'm living it, so it never really feels like actual work. Except yesterday when Sookie was put on immediate bedrest. Panic set in, like it tended to do when things don't go according to my plan, but it was squashed as soon as Luke came to the rescue, taking over the kitchen in Sookie's absence. And Rory seemed to be happy now that she was officially with Logan even though something about their relationship didn't feel quite right to me. However, I swallowed my opinions and hoped for the best.

Breathing in the crisp spring air, I walked up the solar light-lined path that led to the kitchen door. Luke was reading out a dessert order to the kitchen staff when I walked in. He looked so at ease, and as I watched him for a second, I was reminded of how capable he was of slipping into a stressful situation. My problem-solver, always. He caught me staring and nodded towards me, letting me know he was no longer upset about Sookie and her OCD cooking tendencies. I gave him what I hoped was a saucy wink before heading to my office to start wrapping up my day.

"Michel, did the Culinary Institute fax over those applications?" I asked from my desk as I made one final pass through my emails, making sure there wasn't anything pertinent awaiting a response.

"Yes," he answered, uninterested.

After shutting down the computer, I grabbed my purse and locked up my office. "Okay, we need to look for a good sous chef, now. Sookie decided that Manny will take over for her, so we need someone to replace Manny temporarily. Also, leave a sticky note to remind me that he needs a pay increase."

"Don't we all," he drawled.

"See you later, Michel," I called out, impatiently, over my shoulder as I headed back to the kitchen.

Before pushing open the door, the sight of Luke in the dining room caught my eye. There was one person left, a blonde woman, who seemed to be dining alone. Her plates had been cleared, but there was a half-empty glass of wine in front of her. Suddenly, I recognized her as the same customer from earlier who left a comment card saying she wanted to marry the chef. I thought it was a joke, but judging by her hand gripping my boyfriend's forearm, she was serious.

I strolled over to the table. "How's everything this evening?"

Startled, they both turned towards me. Blondie spoke first. "Excellent. I came back down for some wine and dessert and to meet the wizard behind the curtain."

My eyebrows shot up as I nodded at Luke approvingly. A blush crept up his neck, and it gave me a little thrill to watch as he squirmed uncomfortably.

"It was nice to meet you. Glad you enjoyed your meal," said Luke. He turned to leave, but I caught him by the plaid.

"Are you still coming over tonight?" I asked in a low voice, but loud enough for Blondie to hear.

Luke nodded once. "Yep."

He walked briskly back into the kitchen as I turned to face the mystery woman, flashing her my best customer service smile. "Anything else for you?"

Her face fell in clear disappointment. "No. Thank you, though."

Never would I admit this to anyone, but it bothered me when women gave Luke attention. These feelings went back long before we even started dating, and usually when he was dating someone else. I never thought of Luke as my property, even now that we were together. It's just that, as selfish as it may sound, I always felt I had dibs on his attention. Luke wasn't exactly a lady's man, so I knew I had nothing to worry about, but the ladies seemed to like him. What's not to like? And, for the record, I was fine with casual _verbal _flirting, but don't, under any circumstances, touch my man.

At home, I changed into a pair of track pants and a tank top while I waited for Luke. Before I left the inn, he told me he wanted to help clean up a bit, and I told him to bring me any leftovers from dinner, preferably something nice and fancy. Bounding down the stairs, I heard two sharp raps on the glass of the front door. I zipped up my jacket and pulled open the door.

"That was quick," I said, stepping aside so Luke could come in.

He gave me a quick kiss. "I told you your staff was great. They had everything cleaned by the time I packed this up for you."

Whatever it was smelled amazing. I took the foil-covered plate and carried it into the kitchen. My mouth watered at what was underneath: a huge, juicy lamb chop on a bed of rice with sautéed spinach and carrots on the side. I reached into the cabinet and pulled out a second plate so that Luke and I could share. He piled so much food onto one plate, as if he were feeding Cartman. Or a Gilmore.

"Mmm," I moaned while chewing a generous bite of perfectly seasoned meat. "Babe, these are _good_. Seriously, these chops were a hit today."

Luke gave me a pointed look. "She asked to speak to the chef. What was I supposed to do?"

"Not her," I chuckled. "Although, I did get the tiniest hint of an Alex Forrest vibe from her. I was talking about Sookie."

"Oh," he replied, brusquely, before shoveling a bite of rice into his mouth.

"Luke, don't take it personally. She knows you were doing a fantastic job. Pregnancy makes her a little nutty is all. She actually took a lamb chop home to figure out what you put in them."

Luke grinned almost smugly. "Good luck with that."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Really? You're gonna hold out on _me_? What, is it a Danes family secret?"

Luke shrugged. "If a magician gives away how he does a trick, it makes it less entertaining."

God, I loved Smug Luke. "Wizard, magician. Working in a fancy kitchen for two days has brought out a new side of you. And I kind of like it."

We fell into a comfortable silence for a moment until I remembered I hadn't talked to him about my conversation with Rory that afternoon.

"Oh, so get this. Mr. Non-Commitment Logan decided he now wants to be in a relationship but only once Rory told him she just wanted to be friends."

Luke's brows furrowed. "I thought she liked him. She changed her mind?"

I gave Luke the CliffsNotes version of what happened a few days earlier at the Twickham house followed by the aftermath due to the Founder's Day punch—he didn't need to know about Rory puking all night because she had gotten that drunk and upset. He listened intently as he always did when I talked about my daughter, because he cared for her well being and always had.

"Something doesn't feel right to me," I said after filling him in.

Luke took a sip of his beer. "Did you tell her that?"

"No, she wouldn't let me," I answered, stubbornly.

"Lorelai, you're her mom. She knows that you not only have opinions but the right to voice them, whether she wants to hear it or not."

"I know, but it feels like she only wants to talk to me about guy stuff when things are going good. Like I'll be disappointed in her for not having a perfect relationship. I mean, hello, look who's talking."

"What do you know about him?" Luke stood and started clearing the table.

I carried my empty wineglass to the sink. "Nothing, except that he goes to Yale and his family's extremely wealthy."

"Maybe that's why."

I exhaled sharply. "But I don't care about that. Just because that's a life I ran away from doesn't mean I hate all people with money."

"That's not what I'm saying," said Luke patiently. "Look, I just think that Rory's first instinct was to assume you'd object, so she kept her true feelings to herself, made you believe she was okay with it. And now that things seem to be going the way she wants, Rory doesn't want anything to mess that up. Not even if it's the truth."

"Brava, Dr. Phil." I motioned to the dishes in the sink. "Leave this, I'll do it later. Let's go relax, watch some t.v., and see how long I can keep you awake."

Later on, when Rory called to vent about her ill-fated dinner, I let my conversation with Luke fuel me. In the end, it didn't matter. Rory was so desperate for this relationship with Logan to work out that she let what I said go in one ear and out the other. I felt somewhat better now that she knew my true feelings on the situation, but I still wished that my pro-and-con-list girl was the one making the decisions and not the girl who was so swept up in the glamour of this new world she ventured into.

_At least I tried,_ I thought as I shuffled back to the living room after cleaning up the kitchen. Luke was in the same position I left him in, which made me smile. He dropped everything for me over the last two days; I didn't know what I'd do without my white knight. After easing back down carefully into my previously vacated nook, I rested my head on his shoulder. Out of habit, Luke lifted his arm and wrapped it around my shoulder, kissing the top of my head softly.

"How's Rory?" Luke mumbled after a few minutes of silence.

I didn't want to burden Luke with Rory's relationship drama anymore than I already had. "She's fine. Let's get ready for bed, snoozer."

"I was resting my eyes."

Luke lifted his arm so that I could get up, and then I helped him stand. I turned off the lamps and then the t.v. as he locked the front door. We climbed the stairs quietly—me, lost in my own thoughts, and Luke, half asleep.

It wasn't often I reflected on my past or on the things I could have done differently. The choices I'd made were all deliberate, thought out, in my best interest as well as Rory's. I supposed it was natural for a parent to feel solely responsible for their child's actions long after the raising had been done, but I tried to focus on the fact that Rory was her own person, making her own relationship decisions, and all I could do was try hard to support that.

As Luke and I stood in my bathroom—brushing our teeth, doing our nightly routine—I felt incredibly thankful for what we had. Sure, we had our rough patch which was mostly fueled by a third party, but our relationship was stronger; not in spite of it but because of it. Staring at him from behind as he washed his face, I felt an overwhelming amount of affection for this man I loved. _If Rory feels for Logan even an ounce of what I feel for Luke,_ I thought, _then maybe things for them would be okay._

"Your hair is getting so long," I said, fingering the curls at the nape of Luke's neck as he dried his face on his soft, non-scratchy towel.

"I know. I've been too busy to get it cut. Does it bother you?"

"Not at all. I could french braid it for you, if you'd like."

Luke grinned as he started to unbutton his shirt. "I'll pass."

"Here, let me." Slowly, I unbuttoned his shirt, my eyes locked on his.

"How do you do that?" he asked, low and gravelly.

"Do what?" I asked, my voice dripping with feigned innocence as I pushed his plaid shirt off his shoulders and watched as it pooled on the floor behind him.

Luke whipped his undershirt up and over his head in one fluid motion. "Make unbuttoning a shirt look so sexy."

I tilted my head to the side and smiled. "If a magician gives away how he does a trick, it makes it less entertaining. Remember?"

Luke nodded slowly, a smile playing on his lips. In the same deliberately slow way, I unbuckled his belt and jeans, pulling them down with my thumbs until they hit the tile floor of the bathroom with a clunk. Luke untangled his feet and kicked the denim pile to the side before cupping my face with both hands and kissing me deeply.

We tumbled into my bedroom and onto my bed; the exhaustion from the last few days was suddenly nonexistent. My undressing of Luke was slow and torturous, but with the both of us suddenly floating in a hazy cloud of need, I lay naked and ready underneath him in a matter of seconds. After a few more minutes of kissing and caressing, Luke reached into my side table for a condom.

He ripped the foil packet open with his teeth, and I thought, not for the first time, about how much easier it would be if I were on some sort of birth control. It's not like I hadn't tried various methods, but for some reason, I always came back to condoms. Anything with hormones made me too emotional. Go figure.

Luke covered my body with his, smoothing his hand down my bare thigh, sucking gently on the side of my neck. It still amazed me, even after six months, how quickly he could go from zero to _Body Heat_; I hoped we would always be this way.

Looking up at him, I grazed my bottom lip with my teeth. In a low, husky voice, I said, "I hope the broiler's nice and warm."


	20. Isn't It Time To Sell?

"Is there somewhere else we can do this?" I asked in a low voice, taking stock of my surroundings. "Somewhere more _private._"

"Ohh, afraid of getting caught, are we?"

"It's not about getting caught. I'd like my personal, private matters to stay just that."

"Private, hmm. Even from Lorelai?"

Breathing in deeply, I counted to five before exhaling. This whole ordeal was proving to be more trouble than it was worth, considering it was all meant to be a surprise, a good thing, a grand gesture. And since sneaking around wasn't one of my strong suits—let's face it, I was no Ethan Hunt—I constantly felt like all eyes were on me.

"Do we have a deal or not, Taylor?" I asked through gritted teeth.

Taylor stepped from behind the counter in the soda shoppe. "All right, fine. Meet me in my office above the store in half an hour. Oh, and bring bank statements, tax returns. Pretty much anything to prove you're a viable candidate in purchasing the, um, property. And I'll need to make a copy of your license as well, so don't forget that."

"I know what I need, I've purchased property before. We're standing on it."

"Yes, well, don't be late. I have to oversee the museum cleanup and make sure those artifacts find a proper home."

Several minutes later I was rummaging around the safe in my apartment, pulling out all the necessary documents. Barely a week since the museum opened and it was already a bust—I should have bet money on it. Volunteering to be a part of the crew allowed me to not only stay close to the house but to get a look at the work that would need to be done if I was ever able to get my hands on it. The house itself was in great shape for being one of the oldest properties in Stars Hollow, but it would need a lot of updates. I kept that information in mind as I decided on an offer to present to Taylor.

Grabbing a manilla folder off of my desk, I stuffed the paperwork inside as my cell phone started to ring. It was Lorelai calling to let me know she wouldn't be coming in for lunch, but she would try and make it for dinner. That was fine, I told her, because I had errands to run and wouldn't be at the diner anyway. She didn't pry, so I didn't elaborate—one of the many reasons our relationship was working so well. There was a mutual trust between us now that wasn't fully there before.

I pulled open the door to Doose's Market and was relieved to see that the store was nearly empty. All this sneaking around made me paranoid, and it would be my luck that someone would catch wind of what I was planning and blab to Lorelai, ruining the surprise. Or worse. They could snatch the Twickham house up despite my supposed deal with Taylor. I waved to the cashier before making a beeline for the stairs at the back of the store.

Unlike my building, which houses not only my apartment but several others, the top floor of Doose's is Taylor's entire office. He owned several businesses in town, so it made sense from a storage standpoint. But opening his office door to see him staring down at the town from the window—like he was King Taylor, and we were all his peasants—was a little unnerving.

He turned around. "Ah, Lucas. Your punctuality will score you big points with the town elders. Have a seat."

I took a seat, biting back a comment about how punctuality has nothing to do with one's ability to purchase a home, and slid the manilla folder across the desk in Taylor's direction. He sat down and pulled out a pair of reading glasses, perching them on the tip of his nose.

After several minutes of "okay" and "hmm" I had had enough. "Are we actually going to discuss the property, Taylor, or are you using this as an opportunity to get under my skin?"

"Believe it or not, I don't purposely try to get under anyone's skin." He stood and walked over to his copy machine, placing my stack of paperwork inside the loading tray. As the copier pulled each page through, Taylor sat back down. "What are you prepared to offer?"

I leaned forward in my chair, resting my forearms on the desk. "First, you tell me the asking price."

"Well," he replied, dragging the word out. "I haven't had it appraised just yet, but considering its historic background, the square footage, et cetera…"

"I'll tell you what. Whatever the fair market value is, I'll match it. The house was donated, so it's not like you're out any costs, except for what you put into that stupid museum."

"Young man, there's nothing stupid about educating people on how this town came to be. In fact, most of what you saw in the museum was donated. The glass display cases, the mannequins. Technically, the only expense to me is whatever it'll cost to fix the hole in the floor from the cannonball."

I licked my lips before pressing them together. Taylor was dancing around the subject, I could tell. He wanted me to be the first to start negotiating. I knew that historic houses meant historic everything: plumbing, insulation, foundation, no central air or heating. The Twickham house was a fixer-upper but with pretty decent bones.

"Fifty."

Taylor sat back, his chair squeaking underneath his weight. "That's not quite what I had in mind."

I exhaled sharply. "Taylor, as much as I love that house, it needs a lot of work. Now, I'm willing to do most of it on my own, but that won't leave me much room for anything else. Fifty thousand is my opening offer."

Taylor brought his fingertips together, resting them underneath his scruffy beard. "Okay."

I was taken aback. "Okay? Just like that?"

"I'll submit your offer to the town elders, and if they accept, then you'll be good to go. In the meantime, try and keep a cool head. Be polite to your fellow townsfolk. A model citizen, if you will. A little goes a long way with the powers that be."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever, Taylor. Do I need to sign something or…?"

"That won't be necessary. A deal is a deal. I promised the house to you and only you, so a handshake is as good as a signature." To emphasize, he stood and held out his hand.

It seemed a little too good to be true, too easy. Nothing, when it came to Taylor, was easy. Not for me, anyway. So whether it was from the elation I felt over this all possibly working out or the fact that I met with Taylor and didn't feel the urge to strangle him to death, I stood and shook his hand.

"We'll be in touch," said Taylor, sliding my folder back over to me.

When I stepped outside, I had the sudden urge to call Lorelai and tell her the news. She was the only person I ever wanted to share good news with, but the fact that I was doing all of this to surprise her stopped me. Still, I needed to at least see her.

A few minutes later I pulled up at the inn. There weren't a lot of cars in the parking lot, so I parked in one of the guest parking spots. As I made my way to the front porch, I noticed that the stable doors were open. Remembering Lorelai's story of when one of the horses escaped and ended up in someone's wading pool a few months ago, I decided to check things out.

I peeked my head in and spotted Lorelai at the far end of the stable standing next to a woman in a white coat. To prevent spooking them or the horses, I decided to wait outside until they were done. A few minutes later I heard their low voices approaching, so I walked over to the doorway.

"Hi, what a nice surprise," said Lorelai with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Hey," I responded before leaning in and giving her a quick kiss. "Everything okay?"

Lorelai sighed as she motioned to the woman standing to the side, carrying a large leather bag. "Hopefully. This is Maggie, she's our on-call veterinarian."

"Did something happen to the horses?" I asked as I reached out and shook Maggie's hand.

Lorelai loved those horses like they were her own—technically they were—so I knew she'd take it pretty hard if anything were to happen to them.

"Desi hasn't had much of an appetite for the last few days," said Maggie, "so I checked her for a fever. It was slight but not too high, so I gave her a shot of dipyrone to bring it down."

Lorelai thanked Maggie for coming and promised to have someone keep an eye on Desdemona for the next 24 hours. We stood side-by-side as the doctor walked to her car, and it wasn't until she drove off that Lorelai seemed to remember where she was. I watched her walk over to the stable doors and close them, securing the doors with a padlock.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Lorelai blew out her cheeks as she walked back over to me. "Yeah, I'm fine. I feel awful for not being the one who noticed something was off, but I have a million things on my mind lately."

I put my hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Don't blame yourself, it could happen to anyone. Animals get sick just like people."

Lorelai leaned into my chest, wrapping her arms around my waist. I felt her chuckle at the sound of my stomach rumbling. "Did you skip lunch, too?"

"Yeah, I was busy most of the afternoon."

"With your errands?" Lorelai said the word "errands" as if it were code for something else. Propping her chin on my chest, she looked up at me, a grin playing on her lips. I gave her a quizzical look and she said, "It made me think of when you came back from Maine, and you wanted to be alone with me, so you told everyone you had an errand to run."

I couldn't help but smile at the memory; it seemed so long ago. "This errand was real and no where near as exciting." Eager to change the subject, I added, "What time are you leaving today? Maybe we could get an early dinner."

Lorelai's expression shifted back over to business-mode. "I lost a few hours dealing with this, so I'll have to play catch-up." She reached for my arm to check the time on my watch. "Jeez, it's already two?"

"Look," I said, smoothing my hands down her arms before interlacing our fingers. "Go finish your work, and when you're done, I'll have a cheeseburger waiting for you at the diner."

She closed her eyes and smiled, as if she could taste it. "Mmm, with barbecue sauce on the side and potato wedges instead of fries."

"You got it." I kissed her lips lightly, letting it linger.

She pressed her forehead to mine. "You better go before Michel kills you for taking up a guest parking spot."

"I'll see you tonight."

* * *

A few days later, Lorelai and I were having dinner in my apartment. Ever since I helped out at the inn, running the kitchen in Sookie's absence for a few days, I'd been itching to cook something a little fancier than usual. Also, I still hadn't heard anything from Taylor about whether or not we were moving forward in the process of me buying the Twickham house, so I was feeling extra anxious. Cooking was how I dealt with that.

Lorelai seemed to have her own distractions as well. A small part of me was relieved, only because it kept her focus on anything other than what I was up to. Of course, the relief was cut short when she mentioned someone being interested in buying the inn and sending her out as a traveling consultant. My instinct was to shut it down, tell her it was crazy.

And I did. Hearing Dean's stupid voice in my head, _They want more than this, and all you are is this_, I felt I needed to convince Lorelai that this was where she belonged. That Stars Hollow was where she belonged. That I was in the middle of planning something that would change both our lives, and if she left, it would all be for nothing.

But as quickly as those thoughts filtered through my mind, they were gone and replaced with a feeling of selfishness. Who was I to hold Lorelai back from living her dream to its fullest potential? Who was I to stand in the way of her being happy? I always have and always would support her, because that's what she needed, and that's what I was good at, and that's what partners are for. It made me feel good that she knew I was there for her.

"I have some other news," said Lorelai later on as we cleaned up from our dinner. "I'll be going to dinner this Friday."

She didn't have to elaborate. The words "dinner" and "Friday" in the same sentence could only mean one thing.

"How did that happen?" I asked, trying not to sound as shocked as I felt.

She filled me in on her conversation with Rory about the Gilmore's freakout as well as her own insistence on being present when everyone "properly" met Logan. Her plan made no sense to me, especially after everything that happened between her and her mother. _Why couldn't she invite Logan to Stars Hollow for dinner one night? _I thought but didn't say. At the end of the day, Lorelai was going to do what Lorelai wanted to do.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, and it was then I realized I hadn't said a word the whole time she'd been talking.

I shrugged, putting away the last cleaned dish. "I think it'll be tense and awkward, but that's the norm at one of those dinners, so you'll at least be used to it."

"Luke…"

Her tone made me regret my comment. She was looking for a pep talk, assurance on my part that what she was doing made absolute sense. Personally, I could go the rest of my life without stepping foot in the Gilmore residence again. But Lorelai couldn't. Not because it was expected of her but because she knew deep down that it wasn't always bad, and a small part of her enjoyed those dinners over the years.

I exhaled softly. "I'm sorry. It's just that the last time you saw your mother it didn't exactly go well, and I don't want things to be worse than they already are."

"I know, but I'll be on my best behavior. I'll be Swiss, neutral, a silent observer—unless Logan turns out to be mute in which case I'll have no choice but to fill the silence."

"And no one fills silence better than you do." I grinned, catching her eye.

"You should know," said Lorelai, raising one eyebrow for emphasis.

I stepped forward and cupped her cheek with one hand. She rose up on tip toes and kissed my lips lightly, and pretty soon we were kissing deeply, and then we were taking off our clothes, tumbling onto my bed just in time.

The thing about being wrapped up in Lorelai and her world was that it made it so easy to forget my own worries, my own fears. It also allowed me to imagine our future and what that could look like down the road. I had plans for us, and for the first time, the thought of completely sharing my life with someone didn't scare me. I just had to wait for all the pieces to fall into place.

* * *

**A/N:** I went back and forth so many times on trying to decide what Luke's offer for the Twickham house could have been. His reaction to what Kirk was willing to pay was so extreme that it made me think Luke's offer had to have been low enough to where he probably could pay cash. Not that any of it mattered in the long run, but I just wanted to explain my thought process on that one :)


	21. I Love Ranting Luke

"That looks great on you, babe."

Luke turned around to get a better angle in the mirror. "Are you sure? Is it nice enough?"

I smiled. "I already told you, it's not a fancy party. _American Travel_ isn't even a national magazine, so it'll be low-key."

"And _I _already told _you_ that I don't care, I still want to look good for you."

It was the day before the magazine party, and Luke and I were at the mall in Hartford. I had already found the perfect outfit: a bright orange, spaghetti-strapped dress that stopped a few inches above the knee paired with a pastel orange blazer. This was the magazine's first summer issue, so I thought the bright colors were appropriate.

Luke, on the other hand, wanted to be dressed way more _GQ_ despite my insistence on keeping it cas. He picked out a nice pair of black slacks—which made his already great butt look even better—and was now trying to decide between a charcoal grey cashmere sweater or a royal blue button-down with a tie.

I peeked over my shoulder to make sure we were alone. "If you want to look good for me"—I pointed to the open fitting-room door—"lose _all_ the clothes, and meet me in there."

"I think I'll go with the blue," said Luke as if I hadn't just suggested sex in a public place.

"Perfect choice," I said, standing and grabbing our other purchases. "Now, do you want to come with me to get a pedicure, or would you rather go find something a little more manly to do?"

Luke walked back into the fitting room and closed the door. "You go ahead. I'll pay for this stuff, stash the bags in your Jeep, and maybe find a place to get my hair trimmed."

An hour later my freshly painted, ruby-red toes and I went in search of Luke. I was about to call his cellphone when I spotted him coming out of a salon right across from the food court, brushing each shoulder off before placing his hat back on his head.

"That defeats the purpose of a haircut," I said, gesturing to his hat.

"It was a trim, not a haircut."

I shrugged. "Potato, potahto. Speaking of which, let's eat. I'm starved."

Luke gestured for me to lead the way, and I made a beeline for Panda Express. The line was a little long, but then one of the workers came around with a tray of samples to ease all of our hunger pains, enticing us to remain where we were.

"Mmm, this is the best Chinese food," I said, sucking some Orange Chicken residue off of a toothpick.

Luke grimaced. "This is not Chinese food. It's Americanized."

I placed one hand on his shoulder. "Luke, hon, I love you, but if you start criticizing my love for the best fast-food Chinese restaurant within a thirty-mile radius, I don't think we'll make it."

That earned me an eye roll. "Fine. I'm going get a salad at that pizza place on the other side."

I watched him walk away with a stupid grin on my face. It was times such as these when I was reminded of how different Luke and I were. But in the best way. How boring would we be if we were exactly the same? I was the upper while Luke was usually the downer. Not lately, though.

For the last few weeks, Luke has been surprisingly upbeat, almost cheerful. He was always a different guy—calmer, more sweet—with me when we were alone, but I couldn't remember the last time I heard a good Luke rant over something Taylor did. Or anything else, for that matter. I tried to chalk it up to me softening him up; it only took eight years and six months, but maybe it was working.

Or, maybe, I was the one who changed. There have been so many things going on lately: Rory and Logan; my mother and the newly reinstated Friday night dinners; Sookie on bedrest; Mike Armstrong and this potential, new opportunity. The latter of which I'd been trying to act so nonchalant about. _It was just a meeting,_ I told myself, but I would be lying if I said a teeny, tiny part of me wasn't thrilled by the idea of traveling all over the world.

To top it all off, I hadn't told Luke yet, because I wasn't entirely sure what I wanted to do. And he was the one who told me to meet with Mike, so I half-expected Luke to follow up and ask me about the meeting, but it seemed we were both too preoccupied lately. I hoped our trip to New York, away from the stress and distractions of home for one evening, would be what we needed to slow things down a bit, put our futures in perspective.

* * *

"Lorelai, your limo is here," Luke called out from the living room.

I bounded down the stairs carrying my new pair of open-toe slingback pumps in one hand, purse and blazer in the other. "Well there's five words I never thought I'd hear."

Luke grinned. "You have everything you need?"

I made a mental checklist of the contents in my purse. "Yep. Do you think we have time to grab a coffee at the diner?"

Luke closed the door behind us, doubling checking that it was locked. "If we didn't, would that stop you?"

The driver opened the back door, and Luke gestured for me to slide in first. I settled in at the front of the car near the partition that separated the driver from the passengers. The seats were made of a buttery, black leather which lined one whole side of the car plus two seats at the back, and two at the front. On the opposite side, there was a stereo and a mini bar with a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket. Mounted in the corner was a small t.v. with a VCR. It all looked and felt so luxurious, and suddenly the realization of what all of this meant hit me. For one night, I was important.

Luke finally slid in after talking to the driver. Taking in his surroundings, his face looked like what I imagined mine did when I first entered the limo.

"Nice, huh?" I said, reaching forward to grab the remote for the stereo. I turned it on, and the sound of The Cure's "Just Like Heaven" filled the car.

"Very." Luke scooted close to me, resting one arm on the back of the seat. "I asked Gene to stop at the diner."

"No need, Gene," I said through the open partition as he settled himself in the driver's seat. "This champagne'll do the trick."

"As you wish, Miss Gilmore," Gene responded with a wink as he pressed a little button that slowly brought up the partition so Luke and I could have some privacy.

"I think I like Gene," I said before taking the bottle of champagne out of the bucket.

"Here, let me." Luke took the bottle and peeled off the foil. Placing a white cloth napkin around the neck, he untwisted the cage and eased the cork out with a slow _hiss_.

"But you hate champagne," I said as I watched him fill two flutes.

He smirked. "I can drink a few sips, but only on special occasions."

I hummed happily, thinking of our first date, before clinking my glass with his. "To fancy trips paid for by a magazine whose article will most likely sever what relationship I have left with my mother."

Luke gently grabbed my wrist as I was about to knock back the contents of my glass. "No. To _you_ and all of your hard work this past year."

I smiled adoringly at him and softly said, "Hear, hear."

XXX

Two hours later we stepped out onto W 58th Street in front of the Hudson Hotel. It was a beautiful spring afternoon in Manhattan, and I breathed in the familiar smell of the city while Luke coughed on the exhaust fumes of a passing bus. As much as I wanted to play tourist with Luke and roam around the city with him for the first time, the party started at six, and it was already a quarter til.

We were ushered inside and told to take the elevator up to the top floor where the party was being held on the rooftop. With a patio winding around the whole roof, this space could comfortably fit a hundred people. There were at least ten small round tables covered with white table cloths set up in one corner of the space, letting us know the party would be contained to that area of the roof. For not being a national magazine, _American Travel _went all out in choosing this location. The view of the Manhattan skyline alone was incredible.

I loved Stars Hollow—it was my home. But there was something about being in New York, away from small-town life, that excited me. Or maybe it wasn't only New York. Maybe it was being somewhere new, reminding me that there was a whole other world out there. A thrilling feeling zipped through me as I realized I could be seeing a lot more of the world if I took Mike Armstrong up on his offer.

A tug on my elbow brought me back to reality, and I tore my attention away from the busy street below. Luke led me over to a giant blown-up version of the magazine cover set up next to a table that had the actual magazines fanned out like a magazine rainbow. As I stared at the picture of my beautiful inn, it hit me once again that I actually made this happen. Not singlehandedly, of course. I wouldn't have gotten this far without Sookie, Michel, the town. And Luke. Could I really leave all that behind?

"Lorelai," whispered Luke, pointing at the other side of the bar.

It was then I realized someone was speaking into a microphone. My stomach did a little flip when I saw that it was Sandra. The last time we spoke she wasn't too happy with me for wanting to pull the article. Turns out, ignoring my request did us both a favor. I took a moment to look around. The party was a mix of business and casual. I had assumed the people attending would be from the magazine, but the handful wearing expensive suits suggested otherwise.

"…and she was a lot of fun to work with, very entertaining. I enjoyed hearing her story and was glad to be able to share it with everyone. Even after she told me to pull it," said Sandra, earning several chuckles from the crowd.

"Oh, god," I half-whispered, half-groaned while burying my face in Luke's shoulder. "She's going to call me up there, isn't she?"

Before Luke could confirm, Sandra did it for him. "Ladies and gentlemen, our guest of honor, Lorelai Gilmore."

My cheeks burned as I made my way to the front of the crowd. There were maybe forty people in attendance, but it might as well have been a hundred. Sandra handed me the microphone, mouthing the word "congratulations." I turned and gave everyone a small wave as the applause died down.

I cleared my throat. "Wow, thank you so much. It's such an honor to be here, and I wouldn't be without Sandra and her team having an interest in my inn, my story, my very complicated relationship with my mother." The crowd chuckled, urging me to keep going. "I mean, seriously, she was a far cry from Margaret White, but I'd be lying if I said I never imagined being able to slam my door in her face using telekinesis."

Again, the crowd laughed, but when my gaze landed on Luke, I noticed he was not. Maybe he didn't get the reference. Or maybe my joke was, once again, inappropriate. I wrapped things up, thanking everyone for showing up and being supportive. I also may have suggested a karaoke contest for later on.

When I sidled up to Luke at the bar, he slid me a drink. I beamed at him. "Extra cherries? You remembered, thank you."

I took a gulp of my Manhattan, catching a cherry in the process. Luke was already three quarters of the way through what I assumed was his first beer. His face was relaxed, eyes a little glassy. But his shoulders looked tense. I watched as he downed what was left of his beer before signaling to the bartender for another round.

"Are you okay?" I asked, plucking another whiskey-soaked cherry out of my glass and popping it into my mouth.

Luke nodded, reaching for his fresh beer. "I'm fine. As long as I don't have to sing karaoke later…"

We shared a smile, and I said, "Absolutely not. But I do have to mingle a bit, shake a few hands. Can you handle that?"

"Let's do it," he responded, low and gravelly.

Luke and I were introduced to so many people. As I suspected, the party consisted of not only editors and journalists but of hoteliers, investment bankers, and everyone in between—we were in the melting pot of the business world. Networking was happening everywhere I looked, and it amazed me how each person's job connected to another in some way. Like the circle of life, but for entrepreneurs.

Eventually Luke and I made it back to the bar. Mingling with big city folk wasn't something Luke was used to, and I thanked him profusely for being so supportive. After his third beer, the tenseness in his shoulders seemed to ease. I was on my second Manhattan and feeling loose and giggly.

"Hey," I chuckled, leaning forward with my hand on Luke's thigh. "You were right about that guy. The boozy one. What was his name?"

"Frederick Fairmount."

"Say that ten times fast."

For a split second, I thought he was going to. But, instead, he placed his empty beer glass on the bar and held out his hand.

"Dance with me."

It wasn't a question. I slid my hand into his and felt a tingly sensation course through my limbs. My two glasses of whiskey mixed with vermouth was undoubtedly the main culprit, but it was something else, too.

I felt incredibly happy.

Luke held me close as we slow danced through almost every song. It didn't matter if it was "Wonderful Tonight" by Eric Clapton or Blondie's "Heart of Glass." We were in our own intoxicated, blissful bubble.

"Could you see yourself living here?" I asked, my head resting on Luke's shoulder as we slowly swayed to the music.

"In New York?" he asked. I nodded without lifting my head. "Not really. It's a little too busy for me."

I chuckled softly. "I think you and your road rage would fit right in."

"Why are you asking?"

Lifting my head, I wrapped my arms around his neck and shrugged. "No reason. It's nice to be somewhere different once in a while, don't you think?"

"Yeah, sure. In small doses, I guess. But the cost of living is way higher, and the noise. Don't get me started on—"

I leaned in and kissed him, hard. I had been dying to hear a good Luke rant, but this was not the place, amongst proud New Yorkers who would kindly draw blood at the sound of anyone bashing their beloved city.

Pulling back enough to look into his blue, glassy eyes, I whispered, "Whatd'ya say we press pause on this whole thing until we get in the car?"

Luke's glassy eyes darkened as the corner of his mouth pulled up in a smile. "You got it."

We walked hand-in-hand around the party one more time, giving our thanks and saying goodbye. I took a few pictures with the editor in front of the blown-up version of the magazine cover and then a few more with Sandra. I met Luke at the bar where he took the last few gulps of his beer, and I knocked back the rest of my Manhattan.

The edges of my vision were soft and dream-like as I leaned up against the wall waiting for Luke outside the men's bathroom. _This__ was the perfect night_, I thought as I looked over at the party from a blurry distance. And sharing it with someone I loved, someone who supported me, made it even more so.

Luke and I walked, arms looped together, out of the hotel. We practically tumbled into our awaiting limo as Gene held the door open, an amused smirk on his face. Clearly this type of behavior wasn't new to him. I kicked off my slingback pumps and reached for the stereo remote, hitting a few buttons before placing it on the seat next to me.

I was almost giddy as I turned in my seat to face Luke. "Okay, let the ranting commence."


	22. What About The Kids?

"_We all watched Luke pine for Lorelai for nine long years. He waited for her while she went through her many relationships. He won her. Now he wants this for her. And for the others."_

"_Others? What others?"_

"_You'll bring children into the house."_

Children. For once in my adult life, I didn't associate that word with nuisances or jam hands. It made sense to me. I loved Lorelai and planned on spending the rest of my life with her, which meant the possibility of kids—if that's what we both wanted. We never discussed our future and what it would or could look like. My reasoning, lately, was because I didn't want to tip her off to what I'd been planning. Poker face, if you will. But what was hers?

My thoughts quickly shifted to Lorelai, opening the diner door, telling me that Rory was arrested. The elation I felt over finally, _finally,_ securing the Twickham house after all those weeks of waiting evaporated and was replaced with my usual eagerness to want to help fix things. But Lorelai was in a state of shock, understandably so, and left to figure things out on her own.

I was used to bumps in the road. Family, business, and relationship-related: I've experienced them all. This particular bump—my girlfriend's daughter getting arrested—was one I didn't see coming. And neither did Lorelai, I guessed, judging by the fact that they both stayed hunkered down the entire weekend. No trips to the diner, no late-night invites. The latter of which I would have refused, but still. I felt so disconnected from what was going on until I got a call Sunday evening while I was deep cleaning my apartment, trying to keep busy.

I tucked the phone between my shoulder and cheek. "Hello?"

"Hey," said Lorelai softly, an apologetic tone in her voice.

"Hi. How's everything? How's Rory?" I took a seat on the leather chair in the living room.

"I think she's good now that the shock has worn off."

"I bet that makes two of you."

"Indeed, it does." She sighed deeply. "I keep replaying it all in my head, though. Her voice on the other end of the line telling me to come pick her up. Walking out of the police station with her belongings in one of those big envelopes. The ink on her fingers. It's like I don't know who she is anymore."

"Young people do stupid things, remember?" I said, gently tossing her own words from Friday night back at her.

Her voice hardened. "She won't admit it, but this is Logan and his family's fault."

I asked why she thought that and listened as she explained the chain of events from Friday that led to both Rory and Logan getting arrested. It wasn't often Lorelai shared any trouble Rory was having, and I understood why. She never wanted me to think less of her daughter, which was insane, because I knew kids would be kids, and no one was absolved from having a few flaws. Also, in Lorelai's mind, bad kids equate to bad parenting, and the last thing she wanted to be labeled as was a bad parent.

"I think her break from school will do her some good. She's coming home, right?" In saying the word "home," I had a sudden flash of the Twickham house. The three of us choosing which room would be for whom, painting the walls, making the place feel more like _ours. _Excitement bloomed in my chest.

"She'll be here. Oh, I almost forgot. Can you bring me to work tomorrow? I told Rory she could take the Jeep to take care of whatever she needs to take care of. At some point, we need to go get her car, but Rory and I can take care of that."

I hesitated, running my plans for the next day though my mind. Taylor had called to tell me that the paperwork for me to look over and sign for the Twickham house purchase would be ready in the morning. He would be coming to the diner at ten since I would presumably be there.

"Lane comes in at eight, so I can pick you up afterward."

"Eight is great."

"Okay. And, hey? I have a feeling everything'll be fine."

Lorelai sighed softly. "I hope so."

* * *

The next morning I woke before my alarm. The fuzzy edges of a dream I was having lingered just out of reach as I lay there, trying to force myself back to sleep. I tried to pull the dream back into focus, but it was no use. It was like trying to recall a memory; the harder you thought about it, the further it drifted from your grasp. It wasn't until I was fixing a mug of hot tea that a piece of the dream surfaced.

Lorelai standing at a sink—not hers, not mine—with her back facing me, humming softly. She was wearing a long, sleeveless dress that clung to the dip in her waist and stopped right above her bare feet. There was a huge window above the sink that looked out onto a massive backyard. I walked up from behind, wrapping my arms around her, and was surprised to find her belly prominent and slightly protruding underneath the soft fabric of her dress. She was pregnant.

I snapped back to reality. _One step at a time, Danes._

Chalking it up to everything that was going on with the house and thoughts of family, I finished my mug of peppermint tea and headed downstairs to open the diner, but a content smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

By the time eight rolled around, the dream was the last thing on my mind. It helped that I was incredibly nervous about officially purchasing this house I'd wanted for so long. I've bought property before, so that wasn't the issue. It was the not-knowing that had my stomach in tangles. Specifically, not knowing how Lorelai would react: put-off or ecstatic. Either way, this would be the beginning of a new chapter for Lorelai and me, and we needed the fresh start.

I pulled up to her house a little after eight, and as she slid into the passenger seat of my truck, I realized how much I had missed her over the last few days. She looked rested, despite the defeated tone in her voice the night before, but when she smiled at me, it didn't quite reach her eyes. Before backing out of her driveway, I placed my hand on her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. She looked over, her expression inquisitive.

"Morning," I said, softly.

She grinned. "Good morning."

We met halfway for a kiss that tasted minty with a hint of something sweet. Pop-Tarts, most likely. My breath caught in my throat as the kiss lingered. _Get a grip, man._

I cleared my throat and held up a to-go cup from the diner. "Coffee?"

"Yes, thank you."

I pulled out of the driveway and headed for the inn. There was a small traffic jam of looky-loos slowing down to watch several men walking their bikes toward the town square.

"Has the inn been swarmed by all these bikers, too?"

Lorelai nodded. "Yep. That's why I'm heading in early—to help Michel with check-in. I figured it was the least I could do since I basically took the weekend off."

"Any luck with finding a lawyer for Rory?" I asked, remembering our short conversation from Friday night.

Lorelai exhaled sharply. "No, but Logan called right before you picked me up to reassure me that his father would take care of everything."

"You're kidding. It's his father's fault Rory is even in this situation."

"That's what I told him, loud and clear. Rory won't be too happy with me when she finds out, but I don't care. My flimsy Mom card has been dealt." She breathed in deeply and exhaled. "I will not let this situation interfere with my day. There's too much going on, and I need to stay focused."

I pulled up in front of the inn and put the truck in park. "I'm here if you need me. You know that, right?"

"I do. Thanks for the ride, hon." She gave me a quick kiss and climbed out of the truck.

I watched her walk up the steps to the porch of the Dragonfly—crowded with bikers—and wished, once again, that I could fix all of this for her. And for Rory. Lorelai was strong, I knew that. But she tended to take things on solo when it came to her personal life. A control freak, like me.

That thought added to my already building anxiety over purchasing a house that she hadn't exactly ever stated she wanted to live in. I couldn't let that impede my plans, though. Grand gestures were what I was good at, and she's loved each and every one. So far.

XXX

After signing the mountain of paperwork—and subsequently chasing a few bikers with a baseball bat—I felt like a huge weight had been lifted. Now, the decision needed to be made on how and when I would tell Lorelai. _Do I spring it on her?_ I thought as I made my way to the Twickham house; it was legally mine now, so perhaps it needed a new name. _Or maybe I could take her here, ask what she really thinks about it, and then tell her it's ours. _

Using my key, I unlocked the front door but not before taking a quick glance at my surroundings. Sookie and Jackson lived next door, and since Sookie was on maternity leave, I ran the risk of being spotted. The coast was clear, it seemed, so I entered the house. _My_ house.

It looked pretty much the same as it did when we fixed it up for the museum. The floors were a little damaged, scuffs on the walls, but I didn't care. When I looked around, I saw potential. I walked through, what would possibly be a living room, and towards the back of the house. It was there I spotted it. The sink, the huge window, the massive backyard. The only thing missing was Lorelai standing in front of it with her back facing me, humming softly.

As if I summoned her by thought, my cell phone started to vibrate in my pocket. "Hello?"

"So, remember this morning when you said you were here if I needed you?"

My pulse spiked. "What happened?"

"Nothing terrible. I need your handyman expertise if you're willing."

I sighed with relief. "Yeah, sure. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Ending the call, I slipped the phone in the front pocket of my jeans and took one last look around the kitchen. It needed serious updates, but it was doable. Being in this room, the very room from my dream with Lorelai pregnant, made it all seem so real, as if it were all happening right now. I carried that feeling with me as I locked up the house and drove out to the inn.

XXX

A fool can be defined as a person devoted to a particular activity. Take cooking, for instance. Some might consider me a cooking fool. I've devoted my life to it, and I do it daily. But the word could also describe a person who acts unwisely. Unfortunately, in my current situation, it was option two.

I was a fool to think that planning an entire life without the input of the person I planned on spending said life with was a smart decision. I was a fool to ignore Dean and his assurance that both Lorelai and Rory wanted more than this damn town had to offer them. And I was a fool for assuming Lorelai and I were on the same page without ever having discussed it.

_What about the kids?_

My outburst echoed inside my head as I unpacked boxes in the store room later that afternoon. I needed to keep busy, but in solitary. I'd never felt so humiliated. They say actions speak louder than words, but those words were louder than anything I've ever done. And the look on Lorelai's face, like the thought of kids had never even occurred to her. It was gut-wrenching.

On top of that, I had no idea she had met with that Mike guy about selling the inn. How did I not think to ask about that sooner? How were we both considering plans for the future without consulting each other? Obviously, Lorelai didn't need my permission to make career choices, but I thought we were at a place in our relationship where we'd discuss such things. _Like buying a house? _a snide little voice inside my head reminded me. I shook my head at the thought—it was not the same thing. Or was it?

* * *

The next morning I woke from a fitful sleep. It was a stark contrast to the morning before, putting me in an even worse mood. Lorelai hadn't come to the diner for dinner, and when I called her after I closed up to see why, she said she brought home leftovers from the inn because she had a headache and wanted to go straight home after work. I apologized for leaving the inn so abruptly after fixing the window and the banister. She assured me that it was okay and the last thing on her mind, which didn't exactly make me feel any better about our situation. I had no choice but to take her word for it, and we hung up with this awkward energy crackling between us.

I had the morning off, so I decided to stop at Lorelai's house to see if she wanted to go have breakfast away from Stars Hollow. But when I pulled into her driveway a little after seven, her Jeep was gone. Thinking maybe Rory borrowed it again, I slid out of my truck and climbed up the porch.

After a few knocks, I gave up. As I started my truck, I remembered Lorelai telling me the day before that at some point she and Rory would have to go pick up Rory's car in Bridgeport. If that's where they went, it made sense they'd take care of it early. There was a feeling in my gut that told me something was off, but I ignored it.

Ten minutes later I pulled up at Sniffy's. Before Lorelai and I started dating, I would stop in a few times a week. I'd been so distracted over the last few months that I was only able to make it once every few weeks, if that. I pulled open the door to the restaurant and was hit with the smell of breakfast, and coffee, and familiarity. Working in a diner for as long as I have, one would think I'd tire of the smell of food cooking, but it seemed to comfort me.

Maisy rounded the corner near the bar and stopped, a broad grin cracking her face wide open. "Well, well. I'd say 'look what the cat dragged in,' but you used to be deathly afraid of 'em."

I grinned. "Nice to see you, too."

We embraced, and she led me to my usual booth. Not the one Lorelai and I usually occupied but a small booth near the back of the restaurant. Vee, a long-time Sniffy's waitress, set a glass of orange juice down in front of me as Maisy took a seat on the opposite side of the booth, resting her forearms on the table.

She studied me for a moment. "Something's troubling you."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Your eyes give you away, Lucas. I knew the minute you walked in here."

Maisy always had that maternal wit about her. She had this uncanny way of reading people, of knowing what their tells were. It always surprised me that she and Buddy never had children of their own; they were the two best people I knew.

Before I knew it, I found myself telling Maisy everything that had been going on. It was a huge relief to finally be able to unload every thought I'd had over the last few weeks onto someone who wasn't personally involved in the matter. And she listened intently, absorbing every word and detail, letting me get it all out.

"I can't help but feel like I messed something up by not telling Lorelai my plan from the very beginning," I said, taking a deep breath afterward now that the weight of it all seemed to lift a bit.

Maisy sat back, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Well, relationships are like yard sales. From a distance, they look good. Until you get closer and see it's all a bunch of shit."

I choked on my sip of orange juice, coughing almost violently.

Maisy laughed. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Oh, Lucas. I don't think for one minute that you messed anything up, but I will say this. If two people—who have no idea what they are doing—attempt to build a bridge without knowing the stresses it will encounter, my advice to them would be to make sure they build it as strong as they can."

XXX

I left Sniffy's an hour later with a whole new perspective on things. As far as the Twickham house, what's done is done. I backed out, I no longer owned it. The realization stung, but I couldn't dwell on it. Lorelai and I would cross that bridge at some point in the near future. Instead, I wanted to make sure we were on the same page about whatever career decision Lorelai wanted to make, because at the end of the day, that decision would possibly impact what our future looked like.

Taking the exit for Stars Hollow, I decided to try Lorelai on her cell. For some reason, the thought didn't occur to me earlier when I showed up at her house, and she was nowhere to be found. Lorelai was pulling up at the inn when she answered and told me that she had some calls to make but that she would see me at the diner afterward.

Two hours later I was removing a batch of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies from a baking sheet when the bells above the door rang out. Lorelai made a beeline for the counter, and the plate of cookies, but not before leaning forward and giving me a quick kiss.

She popped a piece of cookie into her mouth. "Man, it feels like I haven't been here in a week."

"Four days, but who's counting?"

"I know, I'm sorry. Um…" She trailed off, taking a quick look at her surroundings. "Can we talk in private?"

I finished transferring the cookies onto a plate before leading the way into the store room. All the supplies had been put away the day before, so the table was cleared off. I opted for a chair while Lorelai perched on the tabletop, adjusting her dress and pulling anxiously at her green cardigan.

"I went to Hartford this morning." Lorelai put her hand up to stop my forthcoming questions. "Things with Rory have taken a bit of a turn, but I'm handling it, I promise. And when things have calmed down, I'll fill you in, but for now, I really want to put a pin in it."

My head was screaming at me to ask what happened, but there was a steeliness in her voice that told me I needed to respect her wishes.

I nodded. "Okay."

She nearly sagged with relief. "Thank you. Now, in other news, I talked to Mike Armstrong this morning, and I won't be taking him up on his offer."

My eyes widened slightly. "What? A day ago you were still mulling."

A flash of our—more like _my_—heated argument at the inn hit me. Lorelai had tried to play coy, which was in her nature, but I could tell it was something she would seriously consider doing. The thought of her turning it down because of me caused a knot to form in the pit of my stomach.

Lorelai lifted one shoulder. "Well, I mulled and came to the conclusion that it's not for me. I'm needed here."

I sighed softly. "Lorelai, I—"

"No, Luke, really. I'm fine with it. It's not like I'm out of a job or anything. I have my inn, that's all I need."

I studied her features for a moment. She looked so sure of herself, so certain. And although a small part of me was relieved, an even bigger part couldn't help but feel like she was putting herself and what she really wanted to be doing on the back burner.

As if reading all my internal thoughts over the last few minutes, Lorelai said, "It's not your fault, you know. I hate change. I'm not as flexible as I like people to believe."

I caught her eye, both of us fighting smug grins. She was definitely flexible, but in a completely different (better) way. The thought caused a blush to creep up my neck.

Lorelai hopped off the table and seated herself on my lap. "Can we pretend that none of what happened this last week actually happened? I want things to go back to how they were, for just a little while."

I smoothed my hand up and down her back. "How do you propose we do that?"

She pulled my face to hers, kissing me hard on the mouth. It was then I realized it had been a full week since the last time we were _together._ No wonder we were both so tense and on edge lately. Not to brag, but three times a week was usually our minimum.

When Lorelai slowly slid her tongue into my mouth, I knew I was a goner. Sex was only a temporary distraction, but it would have to be enough. At least until whatever was going on with Rory blew over, which would hopefully bring Lorelai back to her (ab)normal self. And once things calmed down, I could finally fill her in on what had been going on with the Twickham house.

We darted through the curtain, tumbling up the stairs in a whirlwind of hot kisses and clothes coming off. The scene was very reminiscent of a week ago after we got back from the magazine party in New York, except way more sober. She fell onto the bed, pulling me down as her throaty giggles filled the apartment.

As I slowly kissed my way down the smooth skin of her stomach, my last thought before things went completely hazy was that I would do anything for this woman. She had me from day one, and almost nine years later, I couldn't imagine my life without her. We both made mistakes and will probably continue to do so, because we're human. But one mistake I know I didn't make was telling her to stand still a year ago, on the porch of the Dragonfly, so that I could finally kiss her. It was the best spur-of-the-moment thing to happen in my life.

Until Lorelai proposed to me three days later…

* * *

**A/N:** And we all know what happens next! There were two topics I wanted to touch on: the reason behind the "What about the kids?" outburst and the fact that we don't hear about Mike Armstrong ever again. That's why those incidents are so prominent in this chapter, and not Rory's drama, because Lorelai clearly didn't share a whole lot with Luke regarding what was going on.

I won't be doing a s6 version of this, because there's no way I could fight the urge to fix everything that went wrong. Thank you to everyone who hopefully enjoyed this collection of missing scenes as much as I enjoyed coming up with them. Until next time… :)


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